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Class 

Book _1. .... 

Copyright N° Jd. l~ 

2 ~ 

COPtfKIGHT DEPOSIT. 





























1 


\ 


I 










SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 























































‘‘Then look at Spain — like Garth ' 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


BY 

EDITH BALLINGER PRICE 

Author of “Blue Magic,” “Us and the 
Bottleman,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

THE AUTHOR 



NEW YORK 
THE CENTURY CO. 
1920 

CVW 2/ 




Copyright, 1920, by 
The Centuby Co. 


SEP 22 I92C ' 

?' r ^ 

©CI.A576524 c 


AFFECTIONATELY 

DEDICATED 

TO 

PATTY 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Which Begins with the End of a 

Journey 3 

II “From the Perils of the Sea” . . 14 

III Joan Rues Her Bargain .... 28 

IV The Blackfish Interrupts . . .36 

V Sea-Caverns 49 

VI “The Sails of Argo” 57 

VII Put in the Brig 68 

VIII Hy Brasail 77 

IX Rangor Head 88 

X Fishashki 103 

XI Currant Wine and Curious Things 113 

XII Pan-Pipes 125 

XIII The Summons 137 

XIV The Peacock Feather .... 153 

XV Storm Bound . 165 

XVI The Wreck of the Thomas J . . .178 

XVII Ships and Signals 187 

XVIII Steve and Sea-Dust 199 

XIX Cap’n ’Bijah Gives an Invite . . 213 

XX The Bella S 224 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

XXI Treasure, Ho! 234 

XXII Real Adventures 245 

XXIII “We Be Two Poore Mariners” . . 257 

XXIV Star-Set and Sunrise 269 

XXV The Flute at Night : Jim Goes 

Ashore 283 

XXVI Hard to Mend 291 

XXVII The Light Goes Out 299 

XXVIII The Transport Steams On . . . 314 

XXIX Daybreak 327 

XXX Ship of Dreams 340 

Afterword 350 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


“Then look at Spain — like Garth” . Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

She hugged him suddenly 140 

He held it aloft exultantly 256 

“Who proceeded to grapple the Ailouros without 
delay” . 334 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 






























I ' *«. 

- 





























. - . 



















9 
















































SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


CHAPTEE I 

WHICH BEGINS WITH THE END OF A JOURNEY 

J OAN KIRKLAND stood gazing absently 
across the bay from the deck of the old 
steamer Pettasantuclc . She hardly saw the 
loveliness of the distant shore; the russet hay- 
ricks, green orderly meadow-patches, round, 
tufted trees, all mellowed by the afternoon haze 
of late June. She did not hear the gulls 
screaming defiance to the upper winds nor smell 
the ever-strengthening salt in the air. She was 
wondering whether her trunk lay safe in the 
throbbing depths of the Pettasantuck after the 
complicated transfer at Tewksville Junction. 

The tarnished sign above the waiting-room 
door had proclaimed the place Tewksville Junc- 
tion. It was there that Joan had eaten lunch, 
a thick ham-sandwich and a cup of lukewarm 
coffee, consumed from her perch on a high 
stool. The Pettasantuck was at least an im- 
provement on the tedious train of the morning, 

3 


4 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

which had stopped every few minutes at sta- 
tions with unintelligible names and had some- 
times expired altogether for no apparent rea- 
son. These vagaries had made Joan lose the 
boat-train, and the discomfort of the trip was 
increased by a two hours’ wait at Tewksville. 

The steamer proved less erratic than the 
train, for she plodded steadily and consci- 
entiously down the bay, the winds of the Atlan- 
tic growing fresh and more fresh about her 
broad bows and fluttering her pennants gal- 
lantly. Joan clutched her hat and wished that 
her coat were thicker. 

Somewhere on the misty, unknown shore lay 
Joan’s destination — Quimpaug and the Harbor 
View House. Rather unwillingly she reviewed 
for the hundredth time the cause of her ill-con- 
sidered journey. Mr. Robert Sinclair had told 
her that she was unsympathetic, intolerant, and 
unimaginative'. Those were not the exact 
words he had used, to be sure, but it amounted 
to that in the end, Joan reflected with a frown, 
as she recalled his grave and earnest phrases. 
She liked Mr. Sinclair immensely, besides think- 
ing him a very clever portrait-painter ; and she 
ought to have seen that he liked her immensely, 
also. Otherwise he would never have told her 


THE END OF A JOURNEY 


5 


such, disagreeable things about herself in such 
a sober fashion. As it was, Joan had brought 
the conversation to a close by saying : 

“At least you ’ll not have to tolerate these 
qualities long. I ’m leaving town to-morrow 
for the summer.” 

As a matter of fact she had had absolutely 
no intention of going anywhere until that mo- 
ment ; so, when Mr. Sinclair had departed, she 
was left to make good her words. 

“I shall go to the first summer hotel I see 
advertised, no matter where or what it is ! ” had 
been her rash decision. 

A short search through a newspaper had re- 
vealed these significant words : 

“The Harbor View House is the Ideal Spot 
for your Summer Outing. Situated on the 
Verdant Shores of Beautiful Pettasantuck Bay, 
it commands an Unequalled Prospect of Quim- 
paug Harbor and Surrounding Landscape. 
Boating, Sea-bathing, Fishing, Tennis, and 
Other Invigorating Sports. Two Minutes’ 
Walk from Boat-Landing and Post-Office. 
Every Convenience for Our Guests.” 

Joan, a little obstinate, as well as all those 
other things, had tossed the newspaper away 
and turned her attention to packing. 


6 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Now that the journey was almost at an end, 
Joan began to realize the foolish haste of her 
plan. But if she repented at all of her rash- 
ness, she did not consciously confess it, although 
she was now far angrier with herself than with 
Mr. Sinclair. As the Pettasantuck gradually 
left mid-channel and swung landward, Joan 
crossed the deck and found that the boat had 
entered Quimpaug Harbor. Under a sheltering 
hillside the little village lay huddled on the 
shore. The sprinkling of gray roofs straggled 
down to the very edge of the water, where a few 
weather-beaten piers reached out like gaunt old 
arms. Skiffs and sail-boats, moored close in, 
curtsied merrily to the steamer as they caught 
the waves of her wake. 

Aboard the boat an engine-room bell sounded 
once. The Pettasantuck slid silently toward 
the boat-landing. Twice, and her paddle- 
wheels thrashed distractedly and sent a lather 
of foam churning in among the green piles of 
the wharf. Once again, and she lay panting 
and motionless, while men ran with hawsers and 
the gang-plank went out with a clatter. 

The Harbor View House, as its advertise- 
ment had truthfully stated, was but two min- 
utes J walk from the landing. It stood at the 


THE END OF A JOURNEY 7 

head of a short steep hill and commanded — 
besides the “Unequalled Prospect of Quim- 
pang Harbor” — an unobstructed view of the 
dilapidated wharf. Included, also, were piles 
of reeking lobster-pots and barrels of fish and 
a fringe of dirty power-bcfats just come in, 
whose laboring engines choked and spat vi- 
ciously through rusty exhaust-pipes. The hotel 
itself was a barnlike building with a wide echo- 
ing piazza where weathered rocking-chairs 
stood ranged in meek rows. A dingy flag 
snapped its tattered length above the cupola, 
and from somewhere within doors came the jin- 
gle of a patient piano giving forth popular airs 
under the nimble fingers of a summer girl. 

It was late in the afternoon, and little groups 
of people were climbing up from the shingly 
beach and strolling in from the tennis court as 
Joan entered the hotel. 

“I *d like a good room, please,” she said, put- 
ting down her bag at the desk. 

“Very sorry, ma'am,” said the youthful 
clerk; “we 're full to capacity this week. 
Turned away a couple of gentlemen just before 
you came in.” 

Joan stared; she had not reckoned with this 
possibility. She had supposed that in a place 


8 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

so out-of-the-way as this, an additional guest 
would be eagerly welcomed. 

‘ ‘ Then where can I go ? ” she asked. ‘ 1 When 
does the boat go back?” 

4 'The boat she stays here all night, ma’am. 
First trip to-morrow morning, 6:37 a, m.” 

The youth began to sharpen a pencil as 
though he had dismissed Joan’s case com- 
pletely. 

“But I must sleep somewhere !” she expostu- 
lated. “Do you know of any boarding-house 
in the village, any place where they might take 
me in?” 

The clerk sighed and let himself out of his 
enclosure. He led the way to the door and 
pointed down the wharf. 

“See that old feller sitting on them boxes, 
ma’am?” he said. “Well, that ’s ’Bijah Daw- 
son. He knows everything about everybody in 
town, and if there ’s a place where you could 
sleep, he ’d know it. Call him Captain and 
he ’ll do anything for you. You ’re welcome, 
ma ’am. ’ ’ 

Joan caught up her bag and went down the 
pier again. 

“Is this Captain Dawson?” she inquired 
of a brown and grizzled old skipper who sat 


THE END OF A JOURNEY 


9 


watching the unloading of the Pettasantuch. 

The old man slid from his perch with alacrity, 
and emerging from a cloud of strong tobacco 
smoke touched his battered yachting cap. 

“ Dawson ’s the name, ma’am,” he affirmed 
heartily, “an’ Cap hi ’s the title! Cap hi ’Bijah 
Dawson, lately master o’ the Bella S., as trim a 
schooner as ever slipped her moorin’s. An’ 
’t ain’t that I hn too old to be master of her 
now, ma’am — I be as rugged as ever — but them 
sneakin’ fellers upped an’ — ” 

“ Excuse me,” Joan broke in; “the clerk at 
the hotel told me that you might know of some 
place where I could stay to-night. I ’ve just 
come, but the hotel is full and I find that the 
boat does n’t go out until to-morrow. I ’ve no- 
where to sleep.” 

“ ’Shaw!” said Cap’n ’Bijah. “You don’t 
say ! Thet ’s shorely too bad. Lemme see, 
now, ’ ’ he continued, scratching his chin. ‘ ‘ Mis ’ 
Beckly, she ’s got two school teachers from the 
city; an’ Mis’ Collins, she ’s full up with 
comp’ny; an’ the Larkinses, they ain’t got no 
room this year. I dunno, ma’am, as I know 
any place.” 

Joan stared rather gloomily at the lobster- 
pots, and Cap’n ’Bijah pondered silently. 


10 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“ ’Less,” he said presently, “Mis’ Bassett 
might hev room fer ye. Jest two lone women 
— her an’ her daughter — they ’d ought to. We 
could shack along up thar an’ see, anyhow. Ye 
never can tell till ye try, hey? That ’s what I 
alius say. Now lemme get a heft of thet air 
valise, ma’am, an’ we ’ll be goin’ along.” 

The Cap’n took Joan’s bag as he spoke and 
led the way up the hilly street into the village. 
There were no sidewalks; the neat gateways, 
arched with honeysuckle, opened straight upon 
the dusty road. There seemed to be a great 
deal of honeysuckle in Quimpaug, and there 
were many clumps of phlox poking bright flow- 
ers between the fence-palings. Trim, straight 
little paths, bordered with whitewashed stones 
or curly conch-shells, led to the steps of vine- 
covered porches. At one of these paths Cap ’n 
’Bijah turned in, clicking the gate carefully be- 
hind him. He rapped on the house-door with 
his knuckles, and it was presently opened by a 
flurried, middle-aged woman hastily wiping her 
hands on her apron. 

“My land, if it ain’t Cap’n ’Bijah!” she 
cried, peering out. “What brings you up this 
way?” 

“I got a young lady here from the city,” ex- 


THE END OF A JOURNEY 


11 


plained the Cap’n. “The hotel ’s full up, an’ 
she ain’t got nowhars to sleep. I thought 
mebbe you an’ your mother ’d let her hev your 
spare-room.” 

“Oh, my!” cried Miss Bassett. “I ’m just 
real vexed that we can’t ! You know we would 
if we could, ’Bijah. But my cousin Ben— you 
know, ’Bijah, he ain’t been here for five years — 
him an’ his folks come unexpected to-day. 
They got a machine now, an’ they come all the 
ways from Milltown. We got to let one of his 
boys sleep on the sofy in the parlor, as ’t is. 
An’ would you believe it, ’Bijah, I sent for a 
mess of spinidge from Schmidt, an’ more ’n the 
half of it wa’n’t no good. Seems to me he ain’t 
near ’s uppin’ as he used to be. He ’s one of 
them dretful Germans, anyways, an’ I never 
did—” 

“Wal, thank you kindly,” said Captain 
Dawson. “Guess we ’ll be goin’ along. Tell 
my regards to Ben. ’ ’ 

“I ’m real sorry,” said Miss Bassett, and the 
door closed, shutting in with it the savoury 
smell of roasting chicken and frying potatoes. 

“Wal, Miss Kirkman,” said the Cap’n, “I 
alius say, ‘While thar ’s life thar ’s hope still.’ 
We ain’t tried Mis’ Fisher yet. I ’m gettin’ 


12 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


real interested in findin’ yon somewhars to 
sleep. You know how the Scriptures says that 
the birds o’ the air has nests, an’ the beasts 
has holes, but it seems to me you ain’t even as 
well off as they be.” 

“You ’re very, very kind,” said Joan. She 
was wishing that the advertisement of the Har- 
bor View House had never been printed, wish- 
ing still more that she had not obeyed her hasty 
impulse. 

Mrs. Fisher opened her door only a few 
inches when the Captain knocked. 

“I ’m sorry I can’t let you in, ’Bijah,” she 
said. 4 ‘ Georgie was took sick last night — terri- 
ble bad — and Doctor says maybe ’t is the scar- 
let fever. My, it was something awful the way 
he — There! I hear him a-hollerin’ for me 
now!” she cried, and shut the door. They 
heard her footsteps flying up the stairs. 

“Wal, Miss Kirkan,” Cap’n ’Bijah said, as 
they stood beside the white paling fence, “I own 
I ’m stumped. I dunno who else I can ask. 
’Less — I guess mebbe Mis’ Driscoll might pull 
one o’ the mattresses offen the chil’ren’s bed 
an’ let you hev that in the parlor.” 

Somehow this idea did not appeal to Joan, 


THE END OF A JOURNEY 13 

although it was obvious that she must go some- 
where. 

“Oh, what shall I do ?” she cried. “Is there 
no other place ?” She looked about her des- 
perately. “How could I have been so silly as 
to rush off without planning ahead !” she 
thought. 

“I got another idee, Miss - Kirkson!” ex- 
claimed the Captain suddenly. “What I alius 
says is, ‘Better late than never at all.’ Thar ’s 
one place they might take ye — I ain ’t makin ’ no 
promises, mind — but they jest might . An’ 
that ’s out to the Light. 7 ’ 

“The Light V ’ Joan echoed blankly. 

“Yas, Silver Shoal Light. It ’s out thar be- 
yond the Reef ; ye can’t see it from here ’count 
o’ that high ol’ p’int in thar. I can get ye out 
thar in less ’n no time with my little boat. Jest 
say the word, ma’am, an’ we ’re off.” 

“Well,” said Joan dubiously, “I can’t sleep 
in the middle of the road. If you think that 
there ’s any hope, let ’s try, Captain Dawson.” 


CHAPTER II 


“from the perils of the sea” 

T he Lydia , Cap’n ’Bijah’s naptha-launch, 
drove her blunt bows vigorously through 
little slapping waves. 

“They ’re right cur’ous folks out to the 
Light,” explained the Captain, his arm on the 
tiller. “They ain’t noways like the folks 
around these pa’ts, ner yet they bean’t like the 
hotel folks, nuther. Pemberley ’s the name, 
Jim Pemberley. He ’s be’n keepin’ the light 
more ’n four year now, an’ yet thar ain’t a 
man in Quimpawg knows anythin’ ’bout whar 
he come from ner nawthin’. But he ’s a right 
pleasant-spoken feller to everybody. He 
knows his job inside out, but it don’t seem ’s 
though ’twas the place he belongs . A real 
sweet wife he ’s got, too, out on that air deso- 
lated rock-heap. An’ the Skipper! Wal, he 
can’t be beat!” 

The Lydia skirted the gray shore, and Quim- 
paug was soon lost behind a rise in the coast. 

14 


FROM THE PERILS OF THE SEA 15 

Westward the bay wound inland, toward Tewks- 
ville, and Town, and the disturbing Mr. Sinclair, 
Joan reflected unwillingly. In the opposite di- 
rection the space of water widened until the 
southern shore looked blue and undefined across 
its expanse, and right before there was nothing 
but the great and misty reaches of the sea. 

The Cap 'n jerked a brown thumb toward the 
point. 

“Thar 's the Reef,” he told Joan; “them 's 
all rocks, jest awash at high tide. Then thar 's 
a piece o’ shoal water — sand and such— makin' 
out aways. It 's a bad place fer ships cornin' 
out. The Light ain't so much needed coast- 
wise as 't is fer the Bay. An' thar 't is now,” 
he added, pointing again. 

Joan, who had been gazing resignedly at the 
slipping shore — a somber mass of rough rock 
and dark, wind-blown bay-bushes — looked out- 
ward as the Cap 'n spoke. Just at the end of 
the point, where the coastline turned to sweep 
northward, there was a tumble of white water 
on hidden ledges, and beyond, across a calmer 
reach, Silver Shoal Light. 

The stout whitewashed walls were set upon 
bare rock, and from the seaward corner of the 
house a light-tower rose above a steep gray 


16 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

roof. Away from the door, ledges shelved 
gently to the shoal, but deep water fingered the 
foot of the tower, lapping at the weed-fringed 
foundation. Though afterglow still touched the 
white walls, the light was already lit, pale in the 
half -dusk and shining faintly, like an early star. 
While the launch swung nearer, Joan marked 
details — the great fog-bell beneath a pent-roof, 
a weathered bench under green-shuttered win- 
dows, a tangle of bright flowers blooming 
sturdily in painted boxes. 

Cap hi ’Bijah shook his head. 

“They ’re cur’ous, like I said,” he mused. 

‘ i Now look at that ! ’ ’ He indicated a trim little 
sail-boat moored near the landing. “That ’s 
his hi, an’ he can sail her, too ! Bought her dirt 
cheap from an ole feller I know an’ spent half 
his fust winter tinkerin , at her in his little 
boathouse thar. An’ look at her! ’Sides 
makin’ her sea-wo’thy, he made her handsome. 
Wa’n’t never no keeper on Silver Shoal but 
what was satisfied with the boats the Service 
guv ’em. That dory yonder ’s a lighthouse 
boat, an’ no call fer another, seem ’s so; but 
he ’s one that has his way, an’ most gen ’ally 
’t is a good way, fer ’s I can see.” 

The Lydia’s blunt nose bumped the landing, 


FROM THE PERILS OF THE SEA 17 

and Cap’n ’Bijah shouted “Ahoy, thar!” The 
house-door opened at once, and a woman stood 
outlined against the orange light within. 

“Is that you, Cap hi ’Bijah?” she called. 
“Ho you want to see my husband? He ’s up in 
the lantern, but I ’ll fetch him.” 

Then she saw Joan and came down to the 
pier, looking inquiringly at Captain Dawson. 

“I ain’t got no business with the Keeper,” 
he drawled, “but I took the liberty, Mis’ Pem- 
berley, of bringin’ you out a pore young lady 
that ain’t got nowhars to sleep. The hotel 
couldn’t hev her, an’ none o’ the Quimpawg 
folks could, an’ I guess she thought mebbe 
she ’d hev to sleep on a lobster-pot.” He gave 
a rumbly chuckle. “But you know how I alius 
says, ‘Never too late to mend,’ an’ I thought 
mebbe you ’d take her in. I ain’t much up on 
the Rules an’ Reg’lations, but I reckoned you 
could figger on her like she was a shipwrecked 
reffygee, or suthin’. Mis’ Pemberley, Miss 
Kirklan’. Miss Kirklan’, Mis’ Pemberley.” 

The lightkeeper’s wife tossed a wisp of dark 
hair out of her eyes and shook hands with Joan, 
while Cap’n ’Bijah gathered up the bag ex- 
pectantly. 

< < You poor person ! ’ ’ she said. ‘ ‘ What a sad 


18 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


plight! Of course you may stay. Why, the 
Rules tell us that it ’s our bounden duty to ‘ as- 
sist persons in distress/ besides which we can 
invite you as our guest to spend a night at Sil- 
ver Shoal.” 

Joan, who had felt herself at the edge of an- 
other shattered hope, breathed a rather pathetic 
sigh of relief. Her heart had sunk at the sud- 
den menace of 1 ‘ Rules and Regulations . 1 9 

‘ i Have you had any supper V 9 her hostess in- 
quired as they went up the landing. 

“ Nothing since noon; a sort of sandwich and 
some pale coffee at Tewksville Junction.” 

6 ‘ Tewksville ! Heavens !” cried Mrs. Pem- 
berley with fervor. “Come in and have some 
food at once!” She took the bag from Cap hi 
’Bijah, who vanished into the dusk, content. 

Joan looked about her curiously as they en- 
tered the lighthouse. She did not know ex- 
actly what to expect of its interior, — something 
between a farm-kitchen and a boat-house, she 
fancied. The door opened directly into the 
main room, which was low-ceiled and white- 
panelled, its square-paned windows deep set in 
the thickness of the stone walls. A settle stood 
before the small fireplace and bookshelves filled 
the space between the northern windows. 


FROM THE PERILS OF THE SEA 19 


Lamplight winked on the well-polished brass of 
a barometer hanging against the wall and on 
the bright fittings of a telescope on a shelf be- 
neath. A smooth old iron-bound sea-chest 
stood below, and blue braid rugs covered the 
floor. 

But Joan was most of all awara of delicious- 
looking food spread upon the round, lamplit 
table. Mrs. Pemberley led her firmly past, 
however. 

“I ’ll take you up to your room now,” she 
said. “When you come down I ’ll have another 
place laid, and I hope that you ’ll soon forget 
Tewksville Junction. ’ ’ 

She pushed aside a blue curtain as she spoke. 
Behind it steep, narrow stairs, with a knotted 
rope against the wall for balustrade, led straight 
from the living-room to a little square landing. 
Mrs. Pemberley opened a white door at the 
right and lit a candle. Its little yellow tongue 
wavered and then shot up clear and strong, 
lighting the plastered walls of the tiny room, 
the white bed, and the curtains which snapped 
out briskly in the fresh wind from the water. 
A clean salt smell pervaded everything. 

Joan sighed contentedly as she took off her 
coat. 


20 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


i i All this is too good to be true,” she said. 
‘ ‘ How kind you are!” 

* ‘ Staying at that hotel would be bad enough, ’ 9 
said Mrs. Pemberley, “but I suppose not being 
able to stay there might be even worse! I 
think there ’s soap in that big clam-shell,” she 
added as she withdrew. 

Out in the darkness a homing tug tooted a 
deep-voiced signal to her barges. Joan blew 
out the candle and stood at the window looking 
over the dim water. The lights of the tow 
slipped quietly through the dusk and veered 
toward the bay. As the tug rounded the point 
her port and starboard lights glowed out sud- 
denly, like jewels. Joan could hear the faint 
beat of a screw above the sound of lapping 
water under the window. She gazed out a mo- 
ment longer at the darkening sky; then, turn- 
ing, she felt for the knotted cord and went 
downstairs. 

As she entered the living-room a tall, tawny- 
haired, brown-faced person rose from the settle. 

“That ’s my husband,” said Mrs. Pember- 
ley with a comprehensive wave of her hand, as 
she set a blue bake-dish upon the table. “And 


FROM THE PERILS OF THE SEA 21 


come and eat these crabs before their ardor 
cools. Don’t yon think you ’d better light a 
fire, Jim? It ’s growing frigid.” 

“ Perhaps I ’d better,” said Jim, who had 
gripped J oan ’s hand with a clasp that made her 
wince. “We ’ve still some of the Thomas J. 
left. I ’ll burn a bit more to-night, as this is a 
special occasion.” 

“The Thomas J. was a schooner,” explained 
Mrs. Pemberley, as they sat down. “She came 
ashore one winter night in a storm. The own- 
ers saved all they could, and we ’ve been burn- 
ing the rest, on and off, ever since. She was 
the Thomas J. Haskell in full. Why do tugs 
and schooners have such dismal names?” 

“The Bella S. was another,” said Pemberley; 
“Cap’n ’Bijah’s famous craft. Have you 
heard the tale, Miss Kirkland?” 

“A hint of it,” said Joan. 

“Well, you ’ll hear the whole yarn, if you 
continue your acquaintance with the Cap ’n, so I 
won’t spoil it for you,” said Pemberley. “But 
those fishermen have the most wonderful names 
of all for their tubs — everything from the Par- 
thenon to the Jane-Bug. There ’s one called 
the Adjo Grace , and I really saw a boat to-day 


2i2 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

with Caller Lilly painted boldly across her 
stern.’ ’ 

“Caller Herring would be more appropri- 
ate,” said Mrs. Pemberley. “Do have another 
biscuit, Miss Kirkland.” 

“By the way, Elspeth,” said Jim, “we saw 
a launch named Psyche the other day, and first 
Garth called it the Fizzy, and then the Pish, and 
then the Seech, and finally gave it up altogether. 
It did look rather queer; it was divided by the 
stern-post, like this: Psy — Che.” He sketched 
it in the air with his finger. ‘ ‘ But my own boat 
is the Ailouros, and at least that’s better than 
some of ’em.” 

“Why — ” said Joan. “Ailouros; that ’s 
Greek. Doesn’t it mean ‘a cat’?” 

“Well,” said Pemberley, with a twinkle, 
“it ’s a cat-boat, you see. And we call the skiff 
Cymha, because it ’s just a ‘little boat.’ ” 

Joan, leaning back in the settle after supper, 
announced that she was perfectly happy. 

“And you Ve been so good to me, coming to 
my rescue like this,” she said. 

Pemberley, who stood looking into the night, 
closed the outer door and returned to the fire. 

‘ ‘ The Rules and Regulations say, in part, ’ ’ he 
observed, “that it shall be the duty of light- 


FROM THE PERILS OF THE SEA 23 

keepers to ‘assist in saving life and property 
from the perils of the sea.* I don’t know how 
we can fit you into that class exactly, unless we 
consider ’Bijah’s old tub as a peril, which would 
scarcely figure plausibly in my ‘Record.’ No; 
you ’re an invited guest. If Elspeth did n’t in- 
vite you properly at the beginning, I hereby 
do so now.” 

Joan bowed an acknowledgment. 

“The only thing, then, that disturbs my peace 
of mind is to-morrow,” she sighed. “I was so> 
stupid not to write to the Harbor View House 
beforehand. In fact, I was extremely stupid 
to come at all. And that ’s one of the reasons 
why I don’t want to go back to town. I don’t 
know exactly what to do.” 

“Put out the lamp, Jim,” said his wife. 
“It ’s much jollier that way; then we can see 
the nice blue and green flames. There ought 
to be a lot to-night, with that copper strip.” 
Then she turned to J oan. ‘ ‘ Why don ’t you stay 
here?” she asked. 

“At the lighthouse?” Joan said rather 
blankly. 

“Yes, why not?” said Jim, putting another 
fragment of the Thomas J. on the fire. He 
stood up and dusted his hands. 


24 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

i 1 Let ’s see, what is it that the Harbor View 
House offers! ‘ Boating, Sea-bathing, Fish- 
ing, Tennis, and other Invigorating Sports/ if 
I remember rightly. We can provide all those 
things except the tennis, which presents diffi- 
culties; as for the 4 other invigorating sports ’ ” 
— he struck an attitude — “ those are our spe- 
cialty! A short pleasant sail from boat-land- 
ing and post-office! And the famous 4 Prospect 
of Quimpaug Harbor (including the unequalled 
view of lobster-pots, et cetera) sinks to insig- 
nificance beside the outlook from the top of my 
tower / y 

i i Jim ’s ridiculous , ’ 7 said his wife; ‘ 4 but 
really, why don ’t you ! ’ J 

Joan looked across the hearth at these sur- 
prising people. The fire lit Elspeth’s sea-blue 
woollen dress; it shone into her sea-blue eyes. 
Pemberley stood leaning across the back of his 
wife’s chair. A rebellious lock of tawny hair 
hung over his forehead and he was smiling 
whimsically. The driftwood fire sputtered and 
chuckled contentedly, and through the half- 
open window came the sound of the long swell 
against the rocks. 

“If I thought you really meant it!” Joan 
said. “Oh, I know that I could rest and rest 


FROM THE PERILS OF THE SEA 25 


here. I do believe that the Harbor View 
House would have driven me frantic. Might I 
stay, truly? For just a little while, a week?” 

4 4 Why not ? ” said Elspeth. 4 4 Jim, can ’t it be 
arranged?” 

44 I ’ll write to the Inspector to-night,” Pem- 
berley replied. 4 4 He ’s a good old friend, per- 
sonal and official; he ’ll see to it.” 

4 4 We can sail in to-morrow with the Ailou- 
ros,” said Elspeth, 4 4 and get your trunk.” 

4 4 1 don ’t deserve this, ’ ’ murmured J oan. 4 4 1 
was such a foolish hasty person.” 

4 4 As Cap ’n ’Bijah would remark,” observed 
Pemberley, puffing at his pipe, 4 4 4 1 alius says: 
Ye never kin tell of a Friday how the wind ’s 
a-goin’ to blow next week/ ” 

As Joan lay in bed listening to the suck and 
wash of the water about the walls below her 
window, she reviewed the happenings of the 
day. It seemed months since she had left town 
on that tiresome train. How desperate she had 
felt when all the doors of Quimpaug were shut 
to her ! She was very glad now that they had 
been shut, for if she had not come of necessity 
to the Light, she would in all probability have 
returned to town the next morning. It would 


26 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


have been rather humiliating if she had hap- 
pened to encounter Mr. Sinclair. But now 
there was a week in which to rest and make new 
plans ; perhaps she might even stay longer, if it 
could be arranged. She liked the Pemberleys 
and they puzzled her. Lightkeepers who put 
puns in Greek and Latin upon their boats are 
not common ; nor do lightkeepers ’ wives usually 
dress in blue gowns with silver clasps at the 
throat and serve delicious food in real “Willow 
Pattern” plates. Cap hi ’Bijah was right in 
saying that they were “noways like the folks 
around these pa’ts,” and Joan gave up trying 
to account for them. 

She found another cause for contentment. 
Apparently there were no children at the Light, 
and she had seen no fewer than seven at the 
hotel during her brief glimpse of it. “All 
shrieking at once!” reflected Joan. “I could 
never have stood it.” She did not like chil- 
dren. Indeed, that was another of Mr. Robert 
Sinclair’s accusations. He had tried to tell her 
about a small newsboy with whom he had talked 
at the street corner and of the child’s real 
charm. 

“He couldn’t be charming,” Joan had said. 


FROM THE PERILS OF THE SEA 27 

“I believe I Ve never seen a nice child. I don’t 
like them.” 

“But this was such a very fine little chap,” 
Sinclair had protested. “He had a bad leg, 
too. I think it was rather plucky of him.” 

“That makes it much worse, — whole children 
are quite annoying enough.” 

Sinclair had shaken his head very seriously. 

‘ 4 1 think that sums it up, ’ ’ he had said. 1 ‘ Be- 
cause all those other things I spoke of are in- 
cluded in not liking children. I like them just 
because they are children. ’ 9 

“And I dislike them because they ’re chil- 
dren,” she had answered. 

Lying in her quiet bedroom Joan rather re- 
gretted having said some of these things, but 
she was nevertheless well content that there 
were no young Pemberleys at Silver Shoal 
Light. Half asleep, she heard the opposite 
door open softly and Mrs. Pemberley’s voice 
say: 

“I wonder what he ’ll think, Jim?” 

“Who ’ll think— v hat— murmured Joan 
as her eyes closed. 


CHAPTER III 


JOAN RUES HER BARGAIN 

T HE cries of a flock of kittiwakes wheeling 
noisily over the lighthouse woke Joan the 
next morning. She wondered for a moment 
where she was, till she breathed the keen salt 
air which tingled through the window ; then, re- 
membering everything, she lay back luxuri- 
ously. The flat gray of the sky was fading to 
a tender rosiness, which was shot across with 
broad streaks of orange as the sun floated up. 
Cold and hard the sea-line met the glowing 
clouds, a band of steel color. Sailing toward 
the sun, a four-masted schooner slipped along 
the horizon; to the north, a wisp of smoke 
marked a vessel hidden over the earth’s edge. 
The dawn-wind stirred the curtains at Joan’s 
window and whispered about the room. Two 
big sea-going tugs — business-like craft in sober, 
workaday dress — passed close to the lighthouse 
on their way into the bay. As Joan watched 
them, their lights, ghostly in the dawn, went out 
suddenly ; she saw men moving about the decks 
28 


JOAN RUES HER BARGAIN 29 


and heard the steady swish of the water about 
the bows. She dozed again happily ; then, find- 
ing with a start that the sun had climbed far 
above the horizon, decided that it must be time 
to get up. 

Joan threw on a shimmering blue-green ki- 
mono and shook out her dark hair. While she 
stood before the little mirror, the door was sud- 
denly pushed open and in the glass she saw a 
child on the threshold, gazing at her in com- 
plete surprise. She could see only his head and 
shoulders — a crisp tumble of bronzed hair, an 
eager, intent face tanned to a mellow golden- 
brown. Then she turned and saw what the 
glass had not revealed, that he leaned rather 
hard upon crutches and that one brown leg was 
held rigid by a steel apparatus. Half Joan’s 
pleasure vanished. She was thankful that she 
had asked to stay only one week. 

“Well!” she cried finally, for her own gaze 
had faltered under the child’s eyes. They were 
steady gray eyes, the color of the sea on a windy 
day, and they had not once left her face. 

“Well?” she repeated. 

“Are you a mermaid ?” asked the little boy. 
“I wanted you to say something first, so I 
wouldn't frighten you away." 


30 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Of course I ’m not a mermaid !” Joan re- 
torted. “How could I be?” 

“I ’m sorry,’ * said the child. “You see, I 
didn’t know anyone was in here, and when I 
saw you I thought you might be one. You ’re 
so shimmery, you know, and your hair ’s so 
long, only it ’s not green. And they almost al- 
ways have a comb and a glass in their hand.” 
He hesitated. “We always hoped one would 
come near the Light,” he went on, “but I did 
wonder how you could have climbed in at the 
window. But if you aren’t a mermaid, who 
are you?” 

“I ’m Miss Joan Kirkland,” she said. 

“That ’s a very nice name; I shall call you 
Joan. May I come in while you do up your 
hair? Mudder always lets me watch her do 
hers.” He sat down in the rocking-chair with 
some difficulty and clasped his hands over his 
best knee. “My name is Garth Pemberley. 
I ’m rather sorry you ’re not a mermaid,” he 
said. 

“You don’t really think there are such things 
as mermaids, do you?” asked Joan. 

The child gazed at her with an expression 
in his serious eyes that for a moment reminded 
her of Robert Sinclair’s sober look. 


JOAN RUES HER BARGAIN 31 


“Of course !” said Garth. “Fogger and I 
nearly saw one once. That is, we were rowing 
np by Bird Rock one afternoon, and a mermaid 
was caught by her hair. Just as we came along, 
she got off. It looked rather like green sea- 
weed, but mermaids’ hair is like that, you 
know. ’ 9 

“Certainly it was seaweed,” said Joan, 
thrusting in hairpins. 

“I don’t think so, because I saw her scales 
glitter under the water as we rowed up. Fog- 
ger would have poked his oar down, but we 
were afraid of hurting her.” 

“Did your father think it was a mermaid, 
too?” asked Joan. 

“Of course!” said Garth. “There used to 
be such lots of them before the Light was here. 
They used to play in the moonlight all over the 
Shoal. That ’s one reason why it ’s called Sil- 
ver Shoal, you know, because their scales shone 
so in the moonlight. But the Light has fright- 
ened them all away. Are you going to stay out 
here long?” 

“Not very long,” Joan replied emphatically. 

“I ’m sorry,” said Garth. “People don’t 
come here very often. I ’d like you to see all 
the nice things, Joan.” He slid suddenly out 


32 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


of the chair, got his balance, and turned toward 
the door. “I must go to my breakfast now,” 
said he, inclining his curly head graciously. 
“Good-bye!” 

“As though he expected me to disappear out 
the window and never be seen again!” thought 
Joan. “I must go to my own breakfast.” 

As she finished dressing she could hear his 
difficult progress down the steep stairs. 

Mrs. Pemberley looked up from the golden 
cream she was skimming as Joan came to the 
kitchen door. 

“I ’m sorry that Garth burst in on you this 
morning,” she said. “I forgot to tell him you 
were there. He thought you were a mer- 
maid. ’ 7 

“So it seems,” said Joan rather remotely. 
“May I help you?” 

Jim Pemberley ran up from the pier just as 
the others sat down to breakfast. 

“Good-morning, Miss Kirkland!” he cried. 
“There was such a nice breeze that I ’ve just 
been over to the mainland and fished your trunk 
out of the express-office. The old baggage- 
master gives me anything I ask for, and I said 
I ’d send the check over to-day. We might 
have had trouble in finding the office open later ; 


JOAN RUES HER BARGAIN 33 

it closes after the Pettasantuck goes out. ’Lo 
thar, Skipper !" he added, rumpling up his son's 
hair as he passed him. 

4 4 Thank you so much!" murmured Joan. 

She had half thought of leaving that day, 
after all. The prospect of being shut in such 
very close quarters with a small boy, for even 
a week, had taken the edge off her delight of 
the evening before. But now that Pemberley 
had actually written for a permit and had 
brought her trunk, she really could not fly off 
for no obvious reason. 

She was rather silent during breakfast, and 
the conversation was, for the most part, be- 
tween Garth and his father. 

4 4 Fogger, what 's a sea-banana look like ? ' ' 

44 A what?" said Jim. 44 (Would you mind 
passing me the butter, Miss Kirkland?) A 
which?" 

44 A sea-banana; I think I saw one." 

44 A sea-banana," said Pemberley, buttering 
a piece of bread, 4 4 is the fruit of the Sea-Ba- 
nanyan, or push-cartms oceanus. How big was 
this one?" 

Garth laid down his spoon and indicated a 
length of about six inches between two brown 
hands. 


34 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

“And it was long and thin,” he said; “it 
looked something like a cigar. ’ ’ 

“That.’s probably what it was,” said Jim; 
“a sea-gar. Give Miss Kirkland some more 
toast, Elspeth.” 

Joan was laughing in spite of herself; and, 
because Garth was laughing, too, gloriously and 
deliciously, she found to her annoyance that 
she could not stop quite as soon as she wished. 

When Joan went into the kitchen to help 
Mrs. Pemberley with the breakfast things, she 
almost ran into a lanky person on his way out, 
bearing a plate and cup in his hands. He -was 
of indeterminate age, sandy-haired and lean- 
jawed, with mild blue eyes and an anxious ex- 
pression. 

“That ’s just Caleb,” Elspeth explained, as 
she supplied Joan with a tea-towel. 

“And who is Caleb?” Joan inquired. 

“A kindly shadow,” Elspeth replied, 
“brought up on a rule of ‘don’t speak ’less 
ye ’re spoke to, and then no more ’n you have 
to.’ He ’s a noiseless, unseen cog in the ma-> 
chinery of Silver Shoal Light.” 

“What a paragon!” said Joan. 

“He ’s a benevolent Lob-lie-by-the-fire, ” 
Elspeth continued ; “he ’s a Blessing. In short, 


JOAN RUES HER BARGAIN 35 


he does all the chores (except cleaning the 
Light, which is Jim’s job, of course) and he is 
the ‘ competent person’ demanded by the Regu- 
lations, who is left in charge when we go sailing 
or row in for the mail. Just now he was going 
out to his little domain over the boat-house. 
He spends his entire spare time, so far as we 
can see, reading the Reports of the District 
Lighthouse Inspectors from 1870 to date. His 
one hope is to become a keeper some day, but he 
once told Jim that he hadn’t enough ‘git thar’ 
to try for it!” 

It entered Joan’s mind to wonder again what 
had made a lightkeeper of Jim and had brought 
Elspeth out to this windy little house on a rock. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE BLACKFISH INTERRUPTS 

W HEN the blue-and-white plates were 
dried and the tumblers ranged in a 
twinkling row upon the dresser, Joan put on 
her broad hat and chose a book from the well- 
stocked little shelves in the living-room. She 
wandered out upon the rock and sat down in the 
sunshine, intending to read. But before long 
she found herself watching the gulls flapping 
and wrangling on a ledge which the tide had un- 
covered; then her eyes wandered to the main- 
land, where she could see the surf leaping and 
lunging upon the Reef. She leaned back and 
gazed idly, the book neglected. There was a 
sudden sound on the rock behind her, and the 
next instant a violent arm was flung about her 
neck as Garth fell precipitately against her 
shoulder. He disentangled himself in another 
instant and sat up, rubbing his elbow. 

“I hn awfully sorry !” he gasped. “I slid. 
I hope I didn’t hurt you much.” 

36 


THE BLACKFISH INTERRUPTS 37 


“Yon startled me,” said Joan. 

“I ’m glad I did n ’t hurt yon. I came to ask 
you if yon ’d like to fish.” 

“I ’m reading,” Joan said. 

“Yon were n’t when I saw yon,” said Garth, 
“but perhaps you meant to go on.” 

Joan took up the book again and opened it 
in the middle. There was no sound but the 
screaming of the herring-gulls and the slosh of 
the tide as it left the rock-pools. Garth took a 
blackfish line from the pocket of his faded blue 
jumper and began rewinding it very carefully. 

“Sometimes there are flounders,” he mur- 
mured. 

The wind fluttered and rattled the pages of 
Joan’s book so that she found reading difficult. 
Her broad hat flapped, also, in a most disagree- 
able manner, now plastering itself against her 
forehead, now threatening to tear itself alto- 
gether from her head. Finally a sudden gust 
whisked it off and sent it out to sea in a grace- 
ful arc. 

“Oh, what a shame!” cried Garth. “We 
might go after it in the skiff. No, it ’s sank 
already! We mostly don’t wear hats here. 
They ’re too much bother. I hope it wasn’t a 
very good one.” 


38 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“It was not very good, but it was all I 
brought, except my town hat, ’ ’ said Joan rather 
dismally. 

“You don’t have to wear any,” said Garth; 
“but if you really need one, Fogger can give 
you lots of old duck ones. They stick better.” 

“I don’t think that I can read here; it ’s too 
windy,” said Joan, as she shut the book and 
stood up. Garth scrambled up, too. 

“Then you can come fishing!” he said. 
“I ’ve another line in my trousers’ pocket for 
you. The bait ’s down there. Please come, 
Joan!” 

He slid his hand into hers. He had to aban- 
don it the next moment to manage a crutch, but 
she followed him idly. 

“I ’m not allowed out here alone,” he re- 
marked, looking back at her over his shoulder 
and stumbling on a crack in the rock; “but I 
thought it was all right as long as you were 
here.” 

“Please be careful!” cried Joan, feeling sud- 
denly a great responsibility. If the child fell 
and hurt himself, or tumbled into the sea, it 
would certainly be the fault of the grown-up 
person in charge. 

“I fell in once,” said Garth, “when I was 


THE BLACKFISH INTERRUPTS 39 

awfully little. Fogger jumped right from the 
door to the landing in one ’normous jump and 
fished me out. I could n ’ t walk very well then, ’ ’ 
he added. 

“Please don’t fall in now!” Joan said. 
“Don’t you think we ’d better go into the 
house?” 

“Oh, no!” said Garth, who had reached the 
landing and was leaning over the edge of it. 
“It ’s perfickly all right, if a grown-up ’s with 
me. I hope all the crabs haven’t ’scaped out 
of here; we put ’em in yesterday.” He was 
pulling vigorously at a wet rope as he spoke. 
This was fastened to a wire cage which, on 
being pulled from the water, revealed a horde 
of tiny crabs, scuttling madly. “Put in your 
hand,” said Garth, “and pick out a nice one; 
or I will, if you ’d rather not. You ’d better 
sit down ; you ’ll get awfully tired standing up 
that way. ’ ’ 

He thrust a baited hook into her hand and 
flung his own line into the water, nearly fol- 
lowing it himself. Joan sat down on the pier. 
She dared not leave the child alone, and, as she 
was forced to stay there, fishing seemed to be 
as good a way of passing the time as any other. 
She dropped her line into an oncoming wavelet 


40 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


and leaned back against a post. The Ailouros, 
very white and trim, bobbed at her moorings 
near by, her gaff squeaking at intervals. The 
gray dory, closer in, nosed her buoy impa- 
tiently. 

“This afternoon,” said Garth, “we can look 
at the sea-caverns. Do you love ships, Joan?” 

“Not particularly. Why?” 

“I do,” said Garth. “I ’d rather be aboard 
of a ship than anything in the world. And I 
want most of all to be a sea-captain. But I 
couldn’t be even a seaman, not possibly. Oh, 
bother ! A disgusting chogset has got the crab 
ate off my hook without my knowing it!” He 
reached for the bait cage. “Because,” he went 
on, “I ’m not an A. B.” 

“An A. B.?” said Joan. 

“Able-bodied seaman,” said Garth, who was 
letting the crab take a little walk up his sleeve 
before being put on the hook. “A sea-captain 
wouldn’t take a person on his ship that 
could n’t even stand up on their own feet. And 
sailors have to climb into the mizzen-top and 
everywhere else. They have to have terribly 
good sea-legs ; and I have n ’t even got very good 
land ones.” 

Joan said nothing, because she did not know 


THE BLACKFISH INTERRUPTS 41 

exactly what to say; and Garth resumed pres- 
ently : 

“Once a big square-rigged ship came in. 
Fogger woke me up at dawn to see her, because 
I ’d never seen one. She came in close, and 
we saw the men leaning over the taffrail, and 
they hailed us, and we shouted back, and her 
sails went boom — boom as she came by. She 
was so high that we had to look up and up at 
her from the window. And then she was gone. 
I ’ve never seen another. ’ ’ 

He did not add that he had wept bitterly in 
his father’s arms because he could not go with 
her. 

“I ’d like to see her again,” he murmured; 
“she was the beautifullest of all. Joan! 71 he 
shouted suddenly. “You ’ve got a hugeiferous 
bite! Pull! ” 

Joan, rather bewildered, began to draw in 
the line. 

“You ’re not pulling nearly fast enough,” 
said Garth, flinging himself face down across 
her lap and tugging at the line below her hands ; 
“he ’ll get away ! He must be a perfick whale ! 
Help me, Joan. Be ready to pounce on him 
when we get him out!” 

The line sang and spattered through the 


42 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


water, and Joan, really awake now, pulled with 
a will. There was a sudden flop; then Joan, 
Garth, and a four-pound blackfish were strug- 
gling together on the landing, and none of them 
knew exactly who was which. When they 
finally separated themselves, Joan and Garth 
were rather wet, because the blackfish had been 
sitting in both their laps ; but Garth was laugh- 
ing so hard that Joan laughed a little, too, al- 
though the blackfish had hit her in the eye with 
his tail. 

“It ’s much the biggest we Ve ever caught 
from here ! I should n ’t wonder if he weighed 
ten or twenty pounds !” said Garth. 44 Wait till 
Fogger sees what a wonderful fisherman you 
are. I Ve never caught anything but flounders 
here, except littler blackfish and chogsets and 
eels.” 

4 ‘You did most of the catching, it seems to 
me, ’ ’ said J oan. 4 4 1 dare say he would have got 
away from me. ’ 9 

4 4 It was your line, though,” Garth said. 44 I 
hope he did n 9 t spoil your dress. We don ’t ever 
wear very good clothes out here. You know 
you Ve apt to get fish on them all the time, and 
eel-grass, and all sorts of things.” As he 
spoke, he wiped his hands on his blue denim 


THE BLACKFISH INTERRUPTS 43 

trousers. “You hold him down,” he com- 
manded, “while I get this string through his 
gills. Don’t let him flop.” 

While Joan was trying, rather gingerly, to 
find the best way of seizing the fish, Jim Pem- 
berley appeared at the lighthouse door. 

‘ ‘ Fishermen, ahoy ! ” he called. ‘ ‘ Swim, oh ! 
Swimmo ! Is there a bathing-suit in that trunk 
of yours, Miss Kirkland?” 

“Fogger, come here, quick!” shouted Garth. 
“Joan ’s caught a perfickly monstorious big 
blackfish!” 

Jim strolled down to the pier. 

“Bravo!” he cried. “That’s the biggest 
this season. And since when, Bo’sun, have you 
called grown-up young ladies by their first 
names ? ” 

“I asked if I might,” said Garth; “that is, 
I told her I was going to. She doesn’t mind, 
do you, Joan?” 

Joan shook her head feebly. 

“Right-o,” said Jim. “Now then, let ’s see 
who can be ready in five minutes. Up with 
you, Pern. ’ ’ He swung Garth to his shoulder, 
scooped up the blackfish and the crutches in the 
other hand with perfect ease, and stood back to 
let Joan off the landing. 


44 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“If you haven't a bathing-suit," he shouted 
after her, “Elspeth will fix you something. 
There are lots of mixed up ones in the lamp- 
room passage." 

Elspeth, on seeing Joan's satin bathing-dress, 
declared that it was “far too grand to mess 
about the rocks in" and provided a more sub- 
stantial outfit. Arrayed in an alpaca costume, 
brown with much salt water, Joan went down to 
the landing with her hostess. Pemberley was 
already there, his son upon his shoulder. 
Garth, who wore the brightest red bathing-suit 
that Joan had ever seen, waved his hand tri- 
umphantly. 

“We beat you, we did!" he shouted, as 
his father put him down at the side of the 
pier. 

“All in!" cried Jim. 

He made a short run and dove, a beautiful 
swallow-dive, soaring with widespread arms for 
a moment before he brought his hands together 
and cleft the water fair and true. His tawny 
head reappeared a minute later, and he snorted 
and struck out, shaking the water from his eyes. 
Elspeth went in with a good clean dive, and 
Garth shouted : 

“ Now me, Fogger. Please ! ' ' 


THE BLACKFISH INTERRUPTS 45 


Pemberley swam up to the end of the pier 
and trode water. 

“All right/ ’ he said, holding out his arms. 
“ Jump!” 

Garth pulled himself up by a post and stood 
erect, with his arm around it. Suddenly let- 
ting go, he collapsed neatly into the water with 
a royal splash, and came up in a moment, his 
father’s arms around him and his curly hair 
dripping. 

“Now, then,” said Jim. “Hang on tight, 
and don’t breathe in my ear, you old porpoise, 
you. ’ ’ 

So they set out, Garth’s arms about his fa- 
ther’s neck and his small body stretched along 
his father’s back. 

“Come on!” he called to Joan, who still stood 
on the pier. “We ’re going out to the Ailo ti- 
ros.” 

Joan was no diver and a little apprehensive 
in water above her head, but there was nothing 
for it but to follow. She splashed in somehow 
and set off for the sail-boat, which looked very 
far away. 

“If that child has confidence enough to let 
himself fall in that way, I certainly should be 
able to swim out to a boat,” she reflected. 


46 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Once in, it was very pleasant after all — to be 
sometimes confronted by nothing but the dark 
green face of the next wavelet, sometimes lifted 
by the delicious swell to a swinging view of the 
widespread mainland. She reached the Ailou- 
ros finally, and Elspeth helped her to scramble 
into the cockpit where Garth was curled up in 
the sunshine. Jim did all sorts of exhibition 
dives, from double jackknives to back somer- 
saults, while Joan, watching from a pleasantly 
hot seat, dripped and basked and began to feel 
gloriously refreshed. Jim presently took her 
diving in hand, and Joan almost regretted the 
end of the half-hour, when they all swam in 
together. 

Jim, galloping up the pier with Garth, cried 
out: 

“I wager we ’ll be ready before you are! 
And we ’ll want our lunch ! ’ ’ 

A Letter from Elspeth Pemberlet to Her 
Brother 

Silver Shoal, 
June 17th. 

Dearest Brob : 

I hate to think of you in town, working so hard. 
It is growing lovelier now every minute, and you 
ought to be here. Except that we should n ’t have 
room for you, unless you slept in the service-room! 


THE BLACKFISH INTERRUPTS 47 


Cap’n ’Bijah brought us out last night one Joan 
Kirkland, from town, who had been turned away 
from the overflowing Harbor View House. She had 
gone all over Quimpaug with ’Bijah, looking for quar- 
ters, and was in despair. But we soothed her with 
food and a good fire on the hearth; now she is quite 
calm and is spending a week with us, instead of at 
the hotel. It did seem a shame to let her go straight 
back to town, and there was really nowhere in Quim- 
paug for her to stay. 

She is a truly beautiful person, a delight to look 
upon, gracious and stately as a medieval ladye. She 
likes it here, I think, though I imagine that our casual 
way of living is something of a trial to her. I can’t 
quite make her out yet. Garth stumbled into her 
room this morning, not knowing that she was there. 
She was doing her hair, and he thought she was a 
mermaid. I can’t quite tell whether or not she was 
annoyed. It seems hard to imagine any one ’s being 
annoyed with Garth, but she was rather stiff about it. 
He took her fishing this morning, and she caught a 
good blackfish — somewhat against her will, appar- 
ently — and I must say that she was quite decent about 
the slime all over her nice white blouse. She lost her 
hat, too, but people shouldn’t wear garden-hats out 
here. When we went sailing this afternoon, Garth 
dug out a dilapidated duck one from the lamp-room 
passage, and she wore it without a murmur. 

To our great surprise, we found that she can sail 
exceedingly well, though she dived wretchedly this 
morning. Apparently she learned it once as a sort 
of science, and knows all the theories without much 


48 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


practice. But Jim let her take the Ailouros out to 
the Rip and back, and she did it extremely neatly. 
Garth was much amazed, because apparently she ’d 
told him that she didn’t care much about ships; and 
he can’t understand how any one who can sail so 
well doesn’t adore them. I wish that you could see 
Garth now, he ’s so much taller and a good deal 
stronger. But he ’s just as wild about the sea as 
ever, and just as queer and dreamy about ships, and 
as anxious to be a sea captain, poor little person ! 

When we were going out to the Rip, Garth called 
out to J. Kirkland: “That’s Bird Rock, where I 
told you we almost saw the mermaid, ’ ’ and she peered 
out under the boom, and said: “Nonsense! There 
could n ’t have been a mermaid. ’ ’ That ’s the sort of 
person she is. And yet I feel as though there were 
something in her that might wake up. I really be- 
lieve that she ’d rejoice in having an imagination, if 
she could. At any rate, if she sees very much of 
Garth, her imagination ought to grow nicely. That 
is, of course, if she doesn’t nip the little sprouts of 
it before they get well started. 

I must help Garth to bed now, and probably sha’n’t 
have another chance to write more for the next mail, 
so I ’ll stop abruptly and write soon again. 

With ever so much love, your old sister, 

Elspeth. 


CHAPTER V 


SEA CAVERNS 

J OAN, to whom the white duck hat had af- 
forded little protection, was well sun- 
burned, — not a nice tan, but a uniform and pain- 
ful red. 

‘ ‘ It looks rather like a boiled crab now, ’ ’ said 
Garth, when she came down to breakfast the 
next day, “but it ’ll turn brown soon. The only 
thing to do is to get some more before that has 
a chance to come off. You might get some while 
we ’re poking in the sea-caverns.” 

‘ i Sea-caverns ? ’ ’ said Joan. 

“Yes; the ones we meant to look at yesterday 
afternoon, only we went sailing instead. Will 
the tide be right, Fogger?” 

“You ’ll want it on the ebb,” said Pember- 
ley. “Yes, it ’ll be ready for you about nine 
o ’clock. ’ ’ 

Since everyone seemed to think that poking 
in sea-caverns was a perfectly rational occupa- 
tion, Joan could not well refuse and accepted the 
project in silence. 


49 


50 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“ Jim has vanished for a time to perform the 
solemn rites of his post,” Elspeth explained, as 
she and Joan washed the breakfast things. 
‘ ‘ Cleaning the lamp, and fiddling about with oil- 
cans, and writing up the official journal take 
almost all the morning until swimming time.” 

“I hope that he has a chance to play,” Joan 
said. 

“Oh, yes, indeed,” Elspeth assured her; “we 
all have fun together in the afternoon; some- 
times sailing, as we did yesterday, or picnics 
and such. Of course Jim ’s always back by 
sunset, and never leaves at all in a fog, but 
Caleb ’s perfectly capable of looking out for 
everything in the daytime. Jim has one prac- 
tice, however, which I don’t approve,” Elspeth 
added, proffering a dry tea-towel; “he sits up 
till all hours studying for the Navy — he wants 
to get in, you know — 'and then even later, writ- 
ing and proof-reading. He says that he ’s only 
performing his duty,' as he ought to have an eye 
on the lamp.” 

“Oh!” said Joan, continuing to wipe a per- 
fectly dried dish in her surprise. Writing was 
Joan’s profession, or at least what she liked to 
call her profession when she was at home. 
“What does he write?” she inquired. 


SEA CAVERNS 


51 


“ Tales about what he calls ‘the good days/ 
— salt-water things, ' ' Elspeth explained. ‘ ‘ One 
of the reasons why we came out here was so 
that Jim could have a quiet place to work in; 
also a change of climate. He was getting much 
too thin and nervous in town. And it was a 
chance for Garth, too. Jim knew this coast 
thoroughly. When we heard that the old 
keeper of Silver Shoal had died, Jim applied. 
It 's usually very hard to get a station, but for- 
tunately the man next in line withdrew on ac- 
count of illness. Jim got the post, and we came. 
We 've been here for over four years, and we 're 
all utterly happy. Jim has written twice as 
much as he did in town, and — we have Garth." 

“Was he i ttl” asked Joan. 

“Very," said Elspeth; “poliomyelitis, as 
they call it now. He 'll never be able to walk 
properly, because one poor old leg didn't get 
much of its action back and the other isn't a 
great deal better. He was a good little per- 
son," she smiled with a far-away look. “Jim 
used to carry him down to the landing, and 
they both lay on a mattress, with their hats 
over their eyes, and Jim told him stories end- 
lessly. The doctor said that if we 'd stayed 
in town he couldn't have promised that Garth 


52 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


would ever be able to do more than sit up in 
a chair. And now — ” She stopped abruptly 
as Garth himself plunged in suddenly from the 
living-room and caught Joan’s hand. 

“The tide ’s zackly right for the sea-cav- 
erns !” he cried. “She ’s finished with the 
dishes, hasn’t she, Mudder?” 

“I ’ll let her go,” smiled Mrs. Pemberley. 

“So he writes!” thought Joan, as she went 
slowly after Garth into the blazing sunlight. 
Everything was explained now — the names of 
the boats, the books in the living-room, all that 
had puzzled her. She stepped out at the door 
with a much fuller understanding of the life at 
Silver Shoal. 

Garth stopped where tumbled rocks made a 
rough breakwater at the northern end of the 
ledge. Here were deep irregular pockets, 
walled with stone and half -covered by leaning 
slabs. The water sucked in and out between 
the stones with a hollow sound. 

“The best way to do,” explained Garth, “is 
to lie down, like this, and put your head under 
the rock, so that it shuts out the light. ’ ’ 

“With your head in the water?” inquired 
Joan somewhat dubiously. 

“Oh, no,” said Garth; “sometimes a wave 


SEA CAVERNS 


53 


hits you on the nose, but it doesn’t matter. 
There ’s plenty of room for both of us, Joan.” 

She lay down rather cautiously, thrust her 
head in under the slab very close to Garth, and 
looked into the water. At first she could see 
nothing whatever ; then, as her eyes grew more 
used to the sunshot dimness, she began to per- 
ceive strange and beautiful things. The sides 
of the rocks were covered with a glowing 
broidery of red and orange, very much as 
though brightly-colored lichens could grow un- 
der the sea. A little fish hovered in for a mo- 
ment at the sea-mouth of the pool, where the 
sunlight, striking through, made the water clear 
and lemon-green. As the swell filled the little 
cavern and sucked out again, Joan saw clumps 
of bronze-colored weed flat against the rock. 
When the surge swayed them, their short-fin- 
gered tufts twinkled suddenly with wonderful 
darting lights of purple and blue and iridescent 
green, which faded and flashed and died. 

“Is it true,” she said, “that I see a purple 
starfish?” 

“Yes,” said Garth softly; “I can see five of 
them.” 

Joan would once have said that there 
couldn’t be such things as purple starfish; but, 


54 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


searching the quivering gloom, she saw them, all 
five, faintly lavender, richly violet, lifting occa- 
sionally their stiff arms as the water swirled 
in. On the pure white sand at the bottom of 
the cavern, strange, transparent, apricot-colored 
things were putting forth petals like chrys- 
anthemums. 

‘ 1 Sea-anemones/ ’ said Garth. “I ’m watch- 
ing the barnacles.” 

His curly hair swept Joan’s cheek as she 
looked down where he was pointing. The 
barnacles, from their fastnesses on the rock, 
were opening their little folding-doors and 
shooting out wispy, thread-like fingers which 
opened and closed steadily, like animated bits 
of thistle-down. 

“They ’re eating their dinner,” whispered 
Garth, “the nice things.” 

A periwinkle came creeping up past the 
barnacles, his tiny horns just showing beneath 
his shell. 

“I never knew that they could walk,” mur- 
mured Joan. 

“If I stare into the cavern,” said Garth, “in 
a little while I feel as though I were living down 
there. Don’t you?” 


SEA CAVERNS 


55 


Joan half shut her eyes. 

“I see what yon mean,” she said. Then she 
smiled. ‘ 4 ‘ Sand-strewn caverns cool and deep, 
where the winds are all asleep/ ” she quoted, 
half to herself; “ ‘where the spent lights quiver 
and gleam, where the salt weed sways in the 
stream.’ ” 

“That ’s nice,” said Garth; “go on.” 

“I don’t think you ’d understand the whole 
of it,” Joan said. 

“I like things I don’t understand,” said 
Garth. “Please say it.” 

So, more to please herself than anything else, 
Joan repeated “The Forsaken Merman” rather 
dramatically, for though she did not believe in 
mermaids, she believed sincerely in Matthew 
Arnold. When she had finished, Garth rubbed 
his eyes furtively. 

“I do understand it,” he said; “but I think 
she was horrid. The poor merbabies, sitting 
on the cold tombstones and looking in at her 
through the window ! You would n’t have done 
that, if you ’d married a merman, would you, 
Joan?” 

“I shouldn’t have married the merman, to 
begin with,” she said. “Garth! How per- 


56 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


fectly ridiculous, to cry over a made-up poem! 
There ’s your father calling for us to go swim- 
ming. ’ 9 

“But the poor littlest merbaby that used to 
sit on her knee,” murmured Garth as he scram- 
bled to his feet. 


CHAPTER VI 
“the sails of aego” 

F OGGER, I do believe that Joan has n’t been 
up to the Light yet,” said Garth. “Let ’s 
go before lunch.” 

“That’s true; she hasn’t,” said Jim. 
“Very well, then. This way, ladies and gentle- 
men.” 

He opened a small door which led from the 
living-room, and they went through a short 
stone passage where all the rubber-boots and 
slickers and fishing-tackle and oars and duck 
hats were kept. Then they entered the service- 
room. Here were the extra lamps, burnished 
till they winked, and dozens of shining chimneys 
ranged in neat racks. 

“Each one has a different note,” said Jim. 
“I used to be able to play tunes on them, but I 
think some of them have changed places since 
then.” 

Nevertheless, he picked up a little stick and, 
tapping first one chimney and then another with 
57 


58 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


flying fingers, achieved a tinkling tune that 
sounded a little like “My Bonny Lies Over the 
Ocean/ ’ 

“It would make quite a good vaudeville 
turn,” said Jim, “except that so many lamp- 
chimneys would be awkward to carry about. 
And your high C or your middle G might break 
just when you needed it.” 

“But I think it y s amazing,” said Joan. 
“They really have a wonderfully sweet tone.” 

At the foot of the spiral staircase leading 
out of the service-room Jim set Garth upon his 
shoulder and went on up. It was not a high 
light-tower, yet they climbed round and round 
until Joan was almost dizzy before they 
reached the last short ladder. She found, then, 
that she stood in the lantern — an octagonal 
glass room, with the lamp itself in the center. 
Pemberley drew the curtains away from the 
great lens and exhibited to Joan what he called 
the “internal workings” of the Light. He ex- 
plained it all very carefully, showing her the 
beautiful intricacy of the layers of cut and 
polished glass. But when he began talking of 
Fresnel lenses and the dioptric system, Joan 
shook her head. 

“It ’s perfectly simple,” Jim insisted. 


“THE SAILS OF ARGO” 


59 


“Don’t you see that if you had a candle — or 
even a lamp as big as this one — shut up in a 
glass case, the light wouldn’t do much good? 
Most of it would be wasted on things very near 
the lighthouse, instead of getting out to the 
horizon.” 

“Oh, it ’s magnified, of course,” said Joan; 
“I do know that.” 

“More than magnified,” Jim corrected. 
“You see, you must concentrate the rays and 
throw them as far out to sea as possible, if 
they ’re to be of any use. Well, here ’s a 
cylindrical lens, with the lamp in the middle; 
that lens refracts,— bends all the rays that go 
through it so that they shoot straight away from 
the lantern. ’ ’ 

“Oh, I see,” Joan said. 

“But,” pursued Jim, “how about all the rays 
that get outside the cylinder at the top and bot- 
tom? They can’t be wasted, lighting up the 
floor and ceiling!” 

Joan gave up the solution. 

“Well, behold! Rings of separate prisms” 
—he indicated them— “above and below the cen- 
tral refractor; bigger rings nearest the lens, 
smaller ones farthest away. The three surfaces 
of each prism, combined, twist the ray, reflect 


60 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


it brilliantly, and finally send it straight out to 
sea, horizontal and parallel with all the rest. 
Not a glimmer lost. Hey, presto! There you 
are! One little kerosene lamp turned into a 
regular beacon.” He began sliding the cur- 
tains across the sides of the lantern. i i Of 
course,’ ’ he added, “it ’s another story, — the 
system by which they ’re built to direct the light 
in certain ways, according to the sort of place 
the lighthouse is in. But it ’s very interesting. 
I ’d studied it up a bit before I came out here; 
which is one reason why I wanted to come. 
And also,” said Jim, “one reason why they took 
me, I suppose.” 

He showed Joan the thermostat, which rang 
a bell below and warned him when the lamp 
burned too low or too high. Then they stepped 
out upon the little iron balcony around the 
tower. There Jim became eager and eloquent, 
pointing out landmarks up and down the coast. 
Behind them the surf boomed on the Reef ; be- 
low, on the boat-landing, Elspeth shaded her 
eyes and looked up at them. 

“There ’s Bird Rock,” said Jim, “and Tras- 
ket Rock, and the Breakneck beyond. You can 
just see the tower of the Coast Guard Station 
nearly three miles down the beach. See ? Over 


“THE SAILS OF ARGO” 


61 


that highest dune. And if you ’ll turn around, 
— you can’t see Quimpaug itself, because of the 
Point, — you ’ll see the Pettasantuck going 
out.” 

“I don’t want to see the Pettasantuck y yy said 
Joan. “It makes me think of town.” 

“Then look at Spain, like Garth,” said Jim. 

‘ ‘ Spain f ’ ’ said J oan. 

“There ’s absolutely nothing between us and 
Spain,” Jim said, “but a deal of water.” 

“If you kept a perfickly straight course, 
you ’d reach it, wouldn’t you, Fogger?” mur- 
mured Garth, who was leaning on the railing, 
his father’s steadying arm across his shoulders. 

“You would,” said Pemberley, “bearing a bit 
east by south, perhaps, and barring pirates and 
submarines.” 

“What would you do, Fogger, if a submarine 
suddenly popped up beside the Light and said, 
‘Up with your hands!’?” 

“First,” said Jim, “I’d say, ‘Shoo!’ and 
then I ’d put a sausage on a blackfish line and 
see if I couldn’t catch the thing, and if that 
didn’t work, I ’d run it down with the Ailou- 
ros. yy 

“Fogger! You couldn’t!” said Garth re- 
proachfully. “It would torpedo you to bits.” 


62 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Don’t you worry about submarines, you 
matter-of-fact old sea-urchin, you ! Look there, 
Miss Kirkland, at the big fog-bank lurking out- 
side. It ’ll be in on us in no time. I ’ll have 
to start up the bell. ’ ’ 

As they turned to go down, Joan looked back 
and shivered a little as she gazed at the steadily 
creeping line of gray. 

The fog, which had been rolling in thickly 
during lunch-time, now folded the lighthouse 
with a cold silent whiteness. It seemed like an 
irresistible invading force, creeping stealthily 
toward the land. The fog-bell had long since 
begun to toll its warning, presaging the relent- 
less advance. The sound was solemn and very 
lonely, grand even in its monotony ; it pervaded 
everything with a mellow reverberation. Joan 
marveled to find how soon she became used to 
the ever-repeated note. 

Somewhere a tug bellowed hoarsely. Garth 
left the window where he had been standing. 

“Oh, come out!” he cried. “Out into it, 
Joan!” 

“But it ’s so clammy,” she objected. 

“It won’t hurt you; nothing hurts you out 


“THE SAILS OF ARGO” 


63 


here,” he said. “I ’ll get you a sweater, if 
you ’re cold. ’ ’ 

He brought it from the lamp-room passage 
and came back to her. He wore a gray jersey 
himself, and his hair was growing more curly 
every moment in the dampness. 

“Fogger ’s on duty,” he said; “he ’s always 
worried when it ’s thick. And Mudder won’t 
be out, either, till presently. Please bring that 
thinnest green hook on the top shelf, and do 
hurry, Joan.” 

Outside the world had changed. The waves 
at the end of the rock were only a blur of curl- 
ing foam through the gray, melting suddenly 
into emptiness. Off the pier Joan could barely 
see the Ailouros, which rose and fell gently, the 
halyards slapping the wet mast with a lonely 
sound. Out of the impenetrable mystery of the 
fog came whistlings and hootings, impossibly 
deep growls and shrill screeches. 

“It sounds zackly like a lot of great sea- 
beasts fighting and roaring, doesn’t it?” said 
Garth, as they sat down on the rocks. “But 
it ’s just the nice old tugs talking to their 
barges.” He chuckled reminiscently. “Once 
I said; ‘That ’s a tug talking to her tows,’ 


64 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


and Fogger said: ‘Only babies talk to their 
toes ; a tug talks to her tow.’ He does say such 
’diculous things ! ’ ’ 

“Doesn’t he!” Joan agreed. 

“Now read, please,” said Garth. “I don’t 
know where the nicest ones are, that Mudder 
reads, but I think they must all be nice. Just 
begin anywhere.” 

Joan sighed a little. Her only previous ex- 
perience of reading aloud to a child had been the 
entertainment of a small three-year-old girl 
whose mamma had gone shopping. The book 
had been provided by the mother and was an 
interminable tale about a Little Piggy and a 
Little Chickie. Joan opened the book at ran- 
dom, and then said: 

“Why, this is poetry! Do you like these, 
Garth! Do you understand them!” 

“I love it all,” said Garth. “Please go on !” 

So J oan read : 

SHIPS OF THE SUN 

At sunset, with their poops aflame, 

The lofty golden galleons came ; 

The saffron sails of argosies 

From far adown the world were these. 


“THE SAILS OF ARGO” 


65 


The phantom voice of vanished gales 
Made ghostly booming in their sails ; 
The singing waters in their wake 
The music of the stars did make. 


The swarthy crew that manned the decks 
Wore loops of gold about their necks; 
They spoke together in a tongue 
That once I heard when I was young. 


At daybreak, with their sails agleam, 

They vanished like a summer’s dream; 

The shining galleons, one by one, 

Drifting to the sea-washed sun. 

“The square-rigger was a little like that,” 
said Garth gently, “except that she was silver, 
instead of golden. Yes, I think she was very 
like that. Please read the one about ‘Home 
from the back of the world she came.’ ” But 
Joan had turned to the title-page and was gaz- 
ing blankly at it. “The Sails of Argo,” it ran; 
“By James Elton Pemberley.” 

“Well!” she murmured. 

As she turned the page, to begin with the first 
poem, some penciled lines on the fly-leaf caught 
her attention, and she read them silently. 


66 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


G. P. — A DEDICATION 
He has stood where the surges roar, 

And felt the fog on his cheek, 

And heard the great bell speak 
To the groping ships off-shore; 

He who shall never know the feel 

Of a ship with the high seas under her keel . 

He has felt the nor ’east gales 
That shatter the howling sky, 

And seen the schooners fly 
Beneath their cracking sails; 

He who can never know the thrill 

Of the storm in the rigging, keen and shrill. 

He walks a phantom quarter-deck — 

Dear dreamer with the sea-rapt eyes — 

Good winds, if in your power it lies, 

Bring not his shadowy ship to wreck; 

He whose crew can never be 
More than ghosts from the misty sea. 

Frobisher, Magellan, Drake, — 

All ye good Captains of the realm, — 

From the poop and from the helm 
Pause a moment, for his sake, 

Bend you on compassionate knees. 

He with the soul of one of these , 

Fighting a battle that no eye sees. 

The book slipped gently from Joan’s hand 
as she looked up at Garth. Sitting above her 


“THE SAILS OF ARGO” 


67 


and a little apart, he was gazing into the blank- 
ness with the steady eyes of those who look 
much at the sea. His slight figure in the 
closely-fitting jersey made only a patch of 
deeper gray in the fog ; his profile was cut clear 
and dark against the empty spaces. He had 
not been robbed of all the grace that was meant 
to be his, as Joan began to realize, gazing at 
the brave squaring of his shoulders and the 
splendid lift of his chin. She could not take her 
eyes from his face. 

. . . And felt the fog on his cheek, 

And heard the great bell speak 
To the groping ships off-shore. . . . 

It sang in her ears. “He who shall never — ’ ’ 
She held out her arms suddenly. 

“ Garth 1 0 Garth!” she cried. 

He turned quickly. 

“What is it?” And then: “Joan! What ’s 
the matter? You look so queer! You ’re not 
going to — ” 

Joan reached out for the book, where it had 
fallen into a crevice. 

“What was the other one that you wanted me 
to read?” she asked gently. 


CHAPTER VII 


PUT IN THE BRIG 



IHE wind had hauled suddenly and the fog 


JL was rapidly lifting as Pemberley came out 
to where they sat, a pair of oars over his 
shoulder. 

“Who wants to row in for the mail and some 
provisions ?” he asked. 

“7 do !” said Garth, seizing his father’s hand. 

“You must come, too, Miss Kirkland,” said 
Jim. “We ’re all going, and a monster might 
come up out of the sea and eat you, if you 
stayed here ! ’ ’ 

“Indeed it might!” said Joan. “I ’ve never 
seen such a ghostly place as the fog made of 
this.” 

They joined Elspeth on the pier, where Jim 
gave a few parting directions to Caleb. The 
lighthouse boat easily held the four, and Jim 
and Elspeth rowed, while Garth steered. 

“Sing, Fogger!” he commanded, when they 
were well out from the landing. 

“Fogger ’s an appropriate name for me just 


68 


PUT IN THE BRIG 


69 


now,” said Jim, shaking his damp hair; “I : ’ve 
been feeling rather like a fogger. How do you 
expect me to row and sing!” 

“You always do,” said Garth. “Sing the 
one about 4 It ’s westward, ho, for Trinidad, and 
eastward, ho, for Spain !’ and ‘Round the world 
if need be, and round the world again, with a 
lame duck a-lagging all the way/ That ’s 
rather like me,” he added suddenly, “only it 
meant a ship, of course. She was always so far 
behind the rest of the fleet!” 

“But she didn’t give up!” said Jim. “She 
came in with the best of ’em, in the end.” 

“Yes,” said Garth thoughtfully. “Please 
sing, Fogger.” 

So Pemberley settled to his stroke and sang 
in a fine deep voice. 

“Sing the Barbary one, Jim,” Elspeth sug- 
gested, when he had finished. 

Garth bounced joyously in the stern-sheets. 

“Oh, do!” he cried. 

“Very well, ’’agreed his father. “But please 
remember that you ’re supposed to be steering 
this boat. We went two points off our course 
then.” 

Garth gave heed to the yoke-lines, and Jim 
struck up : 


70 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Look ahead, look astarn, look the weather an’ the lee — 
Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we — 

I see a wreck to windward, an’ a lofty ship to lee; 
A-sailing down all on the coasts of High Barbary. 

And when he reached, “ With cutlass and with 
gun, oh, we fought for hours three/ ’ Garth 
shivered with anticipation. 

The ship it was their coffin, and their grave it was the 
sea, — 

A-sailing down all on the coasts of High Bar-bar-y. 

Jim’s voice boomed out through an air quiet 
and golden after the fog. Joan wished for more 
songs, but there was seemly silence in the light- 
house boat as it slid up alongside the landing 
at Quimpaug. 

“ Though Regulations say nothing against 
it,” said Jim, “the inhabitants might report me 
for undignified conduct.” 

The wharf was deserted, with the exception 
of a lean gray cat nosing hopefully at a lobster- 
pot. 

“This place goes absolutely dead as soon as 
the Pettasantuck leaves,” Jim commented, as 
he made the boat fast at the slippery steps. 
“Who ’s coming ashore?” 

“I am,” said Elspeth. “I want to pick out 


PUT IN THE BRIG 71 

some food, myself. Yon do get snch queer 
things, Jim.” 

“I am,” said Joan; “that is, if I can get a 
pair of sneakers in this town. ’ ’ 

“7 am,” concluded Jim, “because I must go 
to the post-office in person. Garth, you ’d bet- 
ter stay here. Sit exactly where you are and 
you 11 be all right, if you don! try any ma- 
noeuvers. We 11 all be hack in fifteen minutes. 
You *re on your honor, ’ 7 he added from the head 
of the steps. 

Joan bought the - sneakers and also a new 
duck hat. Returning, she met Elspeth halfway 
down the hill, and Jim caught up with them be- 
fore they reached the foot of it. As they walked 
down the pier, they perceived Garth leaning 
over a pile-head and intently watching the un- 
loading of a fishing-smack. 

Jim went to him in three strides and put his 
hand on his son’s shoulder. 

* ‘ How did you get here V 7 he asked. 

“Up the steps,” said Garth. 

Jim glanced down at the slimy, green land- 
ing-stair and at the boat bobbing erratically 
beside it. 

“Why?” he questioned. 

“I wanted to see them unload the fish,” 


72 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

Garth explained. “It looks so nice, just like 
a whole waterfall of moonlight, or something. 

I could n’t see from down there.” 

“Do you remember that I put you on your 
honor ? ’ ’ said Jim gravely. 4 ‘ Suppose that you 
had slipped ; suppose the boat had backed away 
from the steps suddenly, the way she ’s doing 
now; suppose you ’d caught your foot in the 
rope? How can I trust you, Pern?” 

Garth sobbed miserably as his father carried 
him down and put him in the bow-sheets. 

“I ’ll pass sentence when we get home,” said 
Jim. ‘ ‘ Will you steer, Miss Kirkland ? ’ ’ 

Back at the Light, Jim summoned Garth, who 
stood before him with his lip quivering a little, 
but his eyes very steady. 

“Pemberley,” Jim said very seriously, 
“when an officer gives an order, what is a sea- 
man expected to do?” 

“Obey it, sir,” said Garth. 

“Yes,” said Jim. “Think what would hap- 
pen if an officer could not trust his men, if he 
never knew whether or not an order was to be 
carried out. Do you remember the little Eng- 
lish midshipman who was ordered to the crow’s 
nest as the ship went into action? When she 
sank, all hands took to the boats, but the middy 


PUT IN THE BRIG 


73 


had not received his orders to leave the post, 
and he went down with his ship. I put you on 
your honor this afternoon. Your orders were 
to stay in the boat; you were on duty. You 
broke your word, because you wanted to amuse 
yourself by watching the fishermen unload. 
What happens to seamen who disobey orders, 
Pemberley?” 

“They ’re put in the b-brig, sir,” said Garth. 

“And I shall put you in the brig,” Jim said. 
He looked at his watch. “It is an hour and a 
half until your bedtime,” he pronounced. 
“Solitary confinement in the service-room till 
then. And bread and water for supper. ’Bout 
face! March!” 

Garth saluted a little shakily. 

“Very g-good, sir,” he said. 

Jim returned the salute briefly. His eyes fol- 
lowed Garth to the door. 

“Pemberley!” he said. Garth stopped, his 
hand on the doorknob. “Shall I be able to 
trust you hereafter?” 

“Yes, sir,” Garth answered in a very low 
voice. 

After the door had closed behind him, Jim 
opened it a tiny crack, looked in silently, and 
presently shut it again. 


74 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


‘ i Crying ?” asked Elspeth. 

“ Trying not to,” said her husband. He 
turned to Joan. ‘ 4 Nautical discipline, Miss 
Kirkland, is the only kind we use here. And it 
is very efficacious.” 

“Poor little chap!” murmured Joan softly. 

Jim looked out at the sunset and shook his 
head. 

“We come of a long line of sea-faring men, 
Garth and I,” he said dreamily and somewhat 
inconsequently. 

A Letter from Elspeth Pemberley to Her 
Brother 

Silver Shoal, 
June 19th. 

Dearest Old Boy : 

We all went clamming on the flats this morning 
and had a most joyful time. Of course it ’s not so 
much fun for Garth as though he could wade around 
on the nice sandy bottom, but Jim always perches 
him on his shoulder and spends half the time gallop- 
ing and splashing about with him, instead of digging 
clams. We were all sopping, of course, before we got 
through, and wished, as usual, that we ’d worn bath- 
ing-suits. 

To our surprise, J. Kirkland paddled around and 
loved it and got any number of clams. She has suf- 
fered a true sea-change; she had been improving a 
little, to be sure, because she spent half a morning 


PUT IN THE BRIG 


75 


with her head in the sea-caverns and came back quite 
excited over purple starfish. But since the fog she 
has been a different person. It fogged tremendously 
yesterday afternoon for a while, and whether or not 
that was what did it, I don’t know, but I saw no 
other visible cause ! Garth dragged her out into the 
thickest of it, and when she came in there was a 
quefer gentle look about her. She is still rather stiff 
with Garth, but she almost wept last night when Jim 
sent him to Coventry. He ’d broken his word, and 
Jim put him in the service-room to ponder. 

Quimpaug is quite excited. When we sailed in for 
the mail to-day, we found that a Russian Count— no 
less — had arrived and is staying with Schmidt the 
butcher, because the hotel is full. I don’t know what 
his name really is, but Jim calls him Fishashki ! He 
appears to be an artist, for he was sketching on the 
wharf when we came in, and stared at us over his 
paint-box. He is quite an interesting-looking per- 
sonage ; and of course Quimpaug thinks he ’s very ro- 
mantic and runs to its windows to see him. 

J. Kirkland is superintending Garth’s supper. She 
offered to, so I slipped away to write to you. I can 
hear their conversation, which seems to be quite in- 
teresting. I ’ll take it down. 

J. K. : But how do you know there were pirates 
anywhere near Trasket Rock? 

Garth : There were pirates everywhere then. 
They might just as well have buried treasure on Tras- 
ket Rock as anywhere else. Some more marmalade, 
please. 

J. K.: (That ’s the third time, Garth. Take an- 


76 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

other piece of bread with it.) Why do you think so? 

Garth : Oh, I don’t know. Once when Fogger and 
I were out by the Rip, we saw a queer sort of thing. 
I thought it was the ghost of a ship, But it might have 
been a cloud-bank, of course, or a mirage or some- 
thing. It was standing in toward Trasket — hand me 
the milk, please — but it was too far off to tell much. 

J. K. : If your father thinks that I can sail well 
enough, you and I might take the Ailouros and go 
treasure-hunting some day on Trasket Rock. (I told 
you she was improving, Brob!) 

Inarticulate sounds of joy from Garth at the sug- 
gestion. I must go in and see that he does n ’t eat all 
the marmalade. 

Please don’t work too hard. I wish I could see 
what you are doing. When town is too horrid, try to 
think of us. being so happy out here and wishing for 
you. 


Lots of love, 


Elspeth. 


CHAPTER VIII 


II Y BEASAIL 

J OAN opened her eyes, closed them again 
drowsily, and opened them once more. On 
the end of her bed sat a small figure in pajamas, 
with its hands clasped over its knees. The 
crutches leaned against the side of the bed. 
They did not seem to go at all well with the 
pajamas, somehow. 

“I hope I didn't disturve you," said Garth. 
“I thought of course you must be awake; that 
tug 's been making such a fuss." 

“What tug?" 

“She came in with three barges, and she 's 
been whistling for a clear fairway for ages. 
She blew and she blew! I thought you must 
be waked up. But you weren't, so I sat here. 
Do you mind my coming in?" 

“Not at all," said Joan. 

“It 's rather cold," Garth observed, hugging 
his knees tighter. 

“You 'd better get under the covers, then," 
Joan advised. 

“I was waiting till you asked me to," said 
77 


78 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

Garth calmly, as he dove under the quilt and 
cuddled down. “We ’re going on a picnic to- 
day, out on Hy Brasail,” he confided. 

“Where ’s that, and what?” Joan asked. 

“It ’s the rock beyond the Breakneck. It 
hasn’t any name, really, but Fogger calls it 
Hy Brasail. He says that means ‘Isle of the 
Blest’ ; it ’s Gaelic, or something. He just calls 
it that because we always have such a good time 
there. It ’s not really a rock ; there ’s a lot of 
grass and queer little flowers sometimes. It 
takes quite a while to sail there ; it ’s far, far 
away.” The expansive sweep of Garth’s arm 
suggested infinite remoteness. “We build a 
fire and everything,” he said; “it ’s great fun. 
I do wish we could sometimes have a supper- 
picnic, though. But Fogger can’t ever be away 
at light-up time.” 

“You and I might go some day,” Joan pro- 
posed. Garth hugged her abruptly. 

“You are nice,” he whispered ecstatically. 

There was a rap at the door, and Elspeth’s 
voice said: 

“I discover that I ’ve lost a child somewhere. 
Answers to the name of Garth — sometimes. 
Information regarding whereabouts of same 
gratefully received!” 


HY BEASAIL 


79 


“What ’s the reward ?” called Joan. 

“A picnic on Hy Brasail,” Elspeth replied. 

“I have inside information about that picnic 
already,” said Joan, “but I ’ll let you in.” 

Elspeth entered, smiling, as Garth pulled the 
blanket up over his curly head. But he 
laughed at the wrong moment, and his mother 
pounced on him and bore him off, in spite of 
protest. 

“If we want to have any sort of day,” she 
said as she vanished, “we ought to get an early 
start.” 

Joan, carrying a picnic-basket down to the 
landing, found Caleb bailing out the dory. 

“Good-morning!” she cried blithely. 

Caleb lifted his eyes, momentarily ducked 
his head, and continued to wield the bailer. 

“It ’s a very fine day, isn’t it!” Joan re- 
marked, determined to break his sphinx-like si- 
lence. Another duck of the head answered her. 

“Do you think the good weather will last?” 
she demanded, trying a direct question. 

Caleb looked slowly around the entire horizon, 
up at the sky, down at the water,— and spoke. 

“Might,” he said. He went at the bailing 
again, with an air of finality; and Joan was 


80 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


about to leave the pier, when he remarked sud- 
denly : 4 ‘ Then agin — might not. ’ ’ 

The day held just enough faint heat-haze to 
temper the sunshine with a tender translucence. 
The sea, of an exquisite turquoise blue, faded 
to clear emerald green inshore; the sail of the 
Ailouros gleamed incredibly white as Jim 
hoisted it. He brought the catboat up beside 
the landing, towing the dinghy astern. 

“All right !” he said. “In with the basket 
and the jug! Clear that center-board rope, 
please, Elspeth! Look out there, Garth; wait 
until I give you a hand. Right-o! We ’re 
off!” 

The Ailouros slid away from the pier, swung 
around, and headed up past Bird Rock, sailing 
closehauled. 

“This is easy going,” said Jim, when they 
were in open water. ‘ 4 Here you are, Skipper ! ’ 9 
He handed over the tiller to Garth, who clasped 
it joyously and fixed his eyes on the luff of the 
sail. 

“Now’ he 9 a utterly happy,” said Jim. “And 
so am I,” he added, as he stretched himself out 
luxuriously and lit his pipe. 

The water clucked softly at the bow of the 
Ailouros and slid flashing along her sides. 


HY BRAS AIL 


81 


There was no other sound, except the occasional 
creaking of a block and the tapping of a slack 
halyard. 

“Luff her up a little, Garth,” said Jim; “you 
won’t have to tack quite yet. Hello, there! 
Look at the big* steamer ! ’ * 

Under a thin line of smoke a large vessel was 
slipping along the horizon. 

“Do you suppose that she could be a trans- 
port?” asked Joan. 

“She might be,” said Jim; “they ’re sending 
men to embarkation points in Canada now. 
They keep the news so close that you never can 
tell when a transport might slip out. But I 
don’t think she ’s quite big enough. She ’s 
probably just* a coaster.” 

“It ’s too bad that we forgot the glasses,” 
said Elspeth. “I meant to bring—” She 
stopped, because the Ailouros had done so sud- 
denly. The boat had come practically to stand- 
still, trembling a little, with flapping sail. 

“What on earth—” Joan began. 

i ( On water, you mean, ’ ’ said Jim. ( The man 
at the helm was locking at another boat, instead 
of sailing his own, that ’s all; we ’re dead in the 
wind’s eye. Ease her off now, Garth. Help 
him, Elspeth! That ’s it! Now get some way 


82 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


on her, and begin to think about tacking pretty 
soon. Do you think you can 1 9 9 

‘ ‘I ’m going to try, ’ ’ said Garth. 

‘ ‘ All right ; now for it ! Ready about ! Hard 
over, man, hard a-lee! Look out for the boom 
for’ard there l" 

Garth eased the tiller down and slid after it, 
as the boat shot up into the wind. Joan ducked 
as the boom came over, and the Ailouros filled 
away on the new tack without losing headway. 

4 ‘Not so bad, old fellow ,’ 9 said Jim. 

Garth was breathing rather hard, and his 
cheeks glowed under their tan. He pushed the 
hair back from his forehead and fixed his eyes 
again on the head of the sail. 

As they neared Hy Brasail, Jim took the tiller 
from him, brought the Ailouros to the wind, and 
let go the anchor. When he had stowed the 
sail and made all shipshape, he got the Cyrnba 
alongside and set his crew ashore upon the lit- 
tle beach. 

Garth was everywhere at once, trying to help 
his mother to collect the picnic baskets and 
his father to make the skiff fast. He ended by 
tangling himself in the Cyrnba' s painter and 
falling flat. Jim snatched him up by the back 
of his jumper, just as a wave slid up the beach. 


HY BBASAIL 


83 


“You haven’t a bathing-suit on, you know,” 
Jim remarked, as he brushed the sand out of 
Garth’s hair. “Suppose that I hadn’t picked 
you up with such truly lightning-like rapidity? 
We ’d have had to hang you out on the gaff to 
dry! What are you laughing at?” He re- 
trieved Garth’s hat from the edge of another 
wave, restored it to its proper position, and 
gazed after his son with a whimsical tender- 
ness. 

Behind the white beach of the tiny island that 
Jim called Hy Brasail, a low, sloping bluff rose 
from the sand. It was crowned with short 
grass, gray-green in the salt air, and dot- 
ted with beach-peas in purple bloom. There 
was sea-stock, too, lifting sturdy flowers, and a 
low scrub of sunburned huckleberry bushes. 
Here and there, cropping from the shallow soil, 
slabs of the worn gray rock lay bare. On the 
shore that fronted the open sea the surf leaped 
and thundered against sheer rocks; but on the 
landward side little waves tiptoed smoothly up 
the sand, curling gently around the skiff. 

“We usually build a fire on the beach and 
have lunch there,” Jim said; “then we go up 
on the rock afterward. Pipe all hands to gather 
driftwood, Bo ’sun.” 


84 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Jim constructed a fire on the sand, with a 
shield of piled stones to windward, and pres- 
ently the flames were licking gaily. 

“Here are heaps of sandwiches/ ’ said El- 
speth, exploring the basket. “Where ’s the 
bacon ?” 

“They will in truth be sandwiches/ ’ Jim ob- 
served, “if Garth does n’t sit down and put his 
feet to leeward of the lunch. Throw me that 
knife, please, somebody.” 

He sharpened four long toasting-sticks, and 
very soon every one was frizzling a slice of 
bacon over the blaze. 

“Yours is getting doner than mine, Joan,” 
said Garth. “Oh, goodness, mine ’s fallen off 
into the fire! Help! Quick, Fogger!” he 
cried, prodding at it frantically with his stick. 
It was recovered, somewhat charred, and Garth 
blew the ashes from it. 

“It ’s not bad at all,” he commented, after a 
cautious bite; “only a little burnty at one end. 
Yours is beautiferous, Joan.” 

“Let ’s have some bread to eat with this,” 
said Jim. “No, that ’s cake, Pern. Over there 
in the bag. What a young sandstorm you are, 
to be sure !” 

They ate everything except a sandwich apiece 


HY BRASAIL 


85 


and some cookies, which were saved because, as 
Elspeth said, “it ’s perfectly amazing the 
amount of appetite one has about half past 
four.” They left the fire smouldering and 
climbed to the top of the bluff, where Jim lay 
down to make up for several hours of sleep 
which he had lost during a foggy night. El- 
speth produced a gray sock and began to knit ; 
while Joan lay staring up at the sky between the 
nodding beach-peas. 

“It ’s rather nice to see grass sometimes, 
isn’t it, Mudder?” said Garth, letting the 
smooth, wind-washed blades run through his 
brown fingers. “It ’s quite different.” 

“Would you rather live where there is real 
grass,” asked Elspeth, “and fields and trees?” 

“No!” said Garth decidedly. “I don’t want 
ever to live anywhere except at the Light.” 

“But I ’ve just been wondering,” said Joan, 
“what it ’s like out there in winter.” 

“Nice!” said Garth. “We have a tremenjus 
big fire on the hearth, and the wind goes 
Br-r-r-r-r around the tower. ’ ’ 

“I should think it did!” Elspeth agreed. 
4 ‘ But we do keep very warm and cosy. Remem- 
ber when we roasted the chestnuts, Garth,, and 
Fogger sang!” 


86 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Yes! And the time the Shoal froze, and 
Fogger walked a little way on it?” 

“Indeed I do! We couldn’t get in with the 
boats and did n’t have any mail or anything for 
a week ! ’ ’ 

“Yes. And, Madder, remember the time the 
birds came? One night, Joan, ever so many 
millions of birds that were going south came 
and fluttered and fluttered up against the lan- 
tern in the mist. The poor birds!” 

“And do you remember the time that I did n’t 
know it was so cold, and let you row in with 
Fogger, and you almost frosted your fingers?” 

Garth shivered. 

“That was cold!” he said. “But I liked it 
best when we had to light lamps so early and 
Fogger read aloud.” 

‘ ‘ Dear me!” cried Joan ; “ it all sounds nearly 
as nice as the Light in summertime! What a 
lucky family you are!” 

“Wouldn’t it be awful, Mudder,” said 
Garth, “if we ever had to live in a town!” 

The afternoon grew mellow and golden, and 
far off, faint rosy sails gleamed just over the 
edge of the world. The kittiwakes wheeled and 
cried above Hy Brasail, and the rising tide 


HY BRASAIL 


87 


skirted its beach with an ever-advancing line of 
foam. Garth had been exploring every corner 
of the island, and the tired leg was dragging 
more and more wearily. Jim stretched himself 
and, leaning on his elbow, looked across the 
huckleberry scrub at his son. Presently he 
said : 

“Come hither, and I will a tale unfold.” 

Garth scrambled to him eagerly and cuddled 
happily into the hollow of his father’s bare 
brown arm. 

“Begin, please,” he said. 


CHAPTER IX 


BANGOR HEAD 

O NCE,” Jim began, “in the good days, there 
was a tall young lad that was trudging it 
down the Cornish coasts in search of adven- 
tures. Never a one had he found yet, though 
he had tramped many days’ journey from home 
and was beginning to weary of it all. And one 
day, just at the turn of noon, he reached a little 
village called Radulgo. This was hardly great 
enough to be called even a village, for there were 
no more than ten or a dozen gray huts huddled 
together on the dunes, with fish nets spread out 
to dry and a few brown children scrambling in 
the door-yards. These children all vanished 
like so many water-rats as our lad (whose name, 
by the way, was Roger Tafferel) came up and 
knocked at the stoutest door. He was weary of 
sleeping in the sand-hollow.:; and eating where 
and when he could, and he wanted a good meal 
and a good bed that night. ’ ’ 

“I hope he had an easier time of it than I did 
in Quimpaug!” murmured Joan. 

88 


RANGOR HEAD 


89 


“The door was opened by a plain, timid-look- 
ing soul, who said that she was the Widow 
Dargeon; and yes, she could give the young 
gentleman the best bed in the village, if he was 
set upon staying in Radulgo. So Roger unslung 
his kit and ate the hot meal that the widow set 
before him; then he turned outdoors again to 
walk up the beach and see what manner of place 
he had come upon. 

“But the Widow Dargeon ran after him to 
the door. 

“ ‘Heed an old woman’s words, sir/ said she, 
all trembling. ‘Don’t venture up the beach to- 
day. All ’s wrong, and the fye-token was seen 
among the dunes last night.’ ” 

“May I ask what a fye-token is?” said Joan. 

“The fye-token,” said Jim, “is a ghostly light 
which burns where no light should be, and it is 
the illest omen that can be seen. 

“ ‘And don’t, of any means, go toward Ran- 
gor Head,’ said the widow, ‘for ’t is there some- 
thing might harm you. ’ 

“ ‘Indeed?’ said Roger. ‘Then Rangor 
Head is where I shall go.’ For was he not in 
search of adventure? 

“He pushed out at the door and strode oft 
up the beach. Before him, perhaps a mile or 


90 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

more away, Rangor Head stood up black as 
night, with the cloud-wrack wisping off its crest. 
In from the sea the fog was rolling white and 
cold. By the time Roger had walked half a 
mile, a chill mist was round him smotheringly 
close and he could barely hear his own footsteps 
on the shingle. There had been not a sound, 
when something touched his shoulder, and 
swinging around with a start, he saw standing 
there an ancient man. His face was seamed 
and wrinkled like a withered rose-haw, and his 
long white hair whipped about his cheeks like 
spindrift. His eyes were points of green that 
stared up at Roger with a look the lad could 
not fathom. 

“ ‘What brings you here on such a day?* 
asked the old man in a shrill voice. ‘ Strangers 
had maun be careful of these coasts. Better to 
go back to Radulgo. I ’ll lead ye the way.’ 

“ ‘I ’m going to Rangor Head,’ said Roger. 

“With that a look of menace crept to the old 
man’s eyes and a sneer to his lip; but Roger 
struck off again. Though he heard no footfall, 
he knew that behind him the old man was fol- 
lowing in the mirk. So he quickened his step — 
though he feared naught, for the man was an- 
cient and feeble — and presently stood below 


RANGOR HEAD 


91 


Rangor Head. It loomed up above him like a 
great black wall, but he could not see more than 
the half of it, for the fog veiled the top. 
Around its foot the water boiled like a caldron, 
hissing and crawling over black, gaunt rocks 
where the kelp trailed and dripped. 

“ ‘What a place !’ thought Roger. ‘And 
never a light nor a beacon to warn off honest 
ships!’ For all his stout heart, he shuddered 
a little as he looked down into the inky swirl 
below. When he raised his eyes he cried out 
aloud, for he saw through the reek a topsail 
schooner close in and driving straight for Ran- 
gor Head. 

“ ‘Can they not hear the breakers?’ Rogef 
thought. ‘What can they be about? Saint 
Brian ! She ’s gone ! ’ 

‘ ‘ For the schooner had shuddered against the 
rocks and was listing now, with her bows high 
in the air and her mainsail dipping the water. 
Roger shouted wildly, but his voice was 
drowned by the crash of the surf. He turned 
to ask aid and advice of the ancient man who 
had followed him, but he was nowhere to be seen. 
Roger could do nothing; the schooner was 
pounding herself to splinters. Before long she 
would be driven up at the very foot of Rangor 


92 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

Head, but that would be too late to help her 
crew; they could never launch a boat into that 
seething water. 

‘ ‘But as Roger stood watching, there came 
struggling a man close by the rock where he 
stood, and he flung himself down and pulled the 
man up beside him. He was of an outlandish 
race, for his face was as yellow as saffron and 
his hair as black as ink. He was a poor crea- 
ture, with abject terror in his eyes (but not all 
a terror of the dangers through which he had 
just gone), and he clung, shivering and chatter- 
ing, to Roger. 

“ ‘ Come, man,’ said the lad, though he knew 
not at all whether the fellow understood his 
speech. ‘Get upon your feet and take my 
shoulder.’ And he dragged him up. So, half 
carrying, half pulling the man, he tramped back 
down the shore, for as far as he could see there 
were no other survivors of the wreck. 

“When he reached the village, the Widow 
Dargeon shrieked at sight of the Yellow Man 
and cowered back behind the door. Roger did 
not stop, but got the man to his room beside the 
kitchen and gave him enough brandy to warm 
him; then rolled him, dried but still shivering, 
into the good feather-bed. 


RANGOR HEAD 93 

“ ‘Stay you there/ said Roger, 'and to-mor- 
row you ’ll be as fit as a flint. ’ 

“With that he went out again and turned up 
the beach toward the schooner. What amazed 
him most was that there was not a sign of life 
in Radulgo. The doors were shut; even the 
children had disappeared. 

“ ‘It ’s not possible that they do not know 
of the wreck,’ he thought. ‘Why are they not 
all turned out to help, or, at least, to watch V 
“The fog was lifting a bit, and as Roger came 
near the Head he saw two dark figures, with a 
third between them. This form was dressed in 
white and seemed to be that of a woman. As 
he started running down the beach, he heard a 
shriek ; when he raised his eyes he saw that all 
three had vanished. Reaching the spot, he saw 
absolutely nothing. The waves licked silently 
up the shingle; before him Rangor Head 
brooded over the shattered schooner; above, a 
lone gull screamed uncannily. 

“Night was beginning to fall now, and Roger, 
seeing no living thing near the wreck, turned 
back once more to Radulgo. When he entered 
his own room he found, to his astonishment, that 
the feather-bed was empty; the Yellow Man 
had disappeared ! On the table lay a crinkling 


94 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


heap of black ashes that had been a paper and 
a scrap of charred and tarry string. Roger’s 
questioning of the Widow Dargeon gave him lit- 
tle satisfaction. She vowed she had seen no 
one pass in or out ; but ever and anon she looked 
furtively out at the window, twisting her apron. 

“As Roger pulled off his boots that night, he 
caught sight of a torn bit of paper which had 
fluttered under the bed, perhaps from the docu- 
ment burned at the table. It was a small cor- 
ner, torn across, and only these words were 
legible: L . . rocks of Ra . . . for which we 
agre . . . sum of £20 . . .’ Roger could make 
neither head nor tail of it, and went to sleep, 
worn out with a deal of trudging and excite- 
ment. 

“It might have been almost any hour of the 
night, when he woke with his heart thumping 
and the knowledge that something was in his 
room. He lay deathly still, and heard a cau- 
tious, groping hand feeling, feeling, ever nearer 
to him. Finally it passed over his face, cold 
and wet with salt fog, and he had much ado to 
keep silent. A whisper so faint that it seemed 
scarcely real breathed at his ear. 

‘ 1 ‘ Go, Kalikao ! 9 it said. 4 Go while you 
may!’ 


RANGOR HEAD 


95 


‘ ‘ Roger thrust out his arms of a sudden, with 
a muttered exclamation, but his hands clutched 
at air, and in the darkness he caught a green 
flash of the ancient man’s eyes. The warning 
was very plainly meant for the Yellow Man, but 
the lad cared little to stay in such an unchancey 
spot and sprang out of bed. The striking of a 
light showed the room to be empty, and he flung 
on his clothes hurriedly. He left a half-crown 
upon the kitchen table, to pay his night’s lodg- 
ing, and stepped out into the night. 

“He had no idea of what hour it might be, 
but as he drew near Rangor Head, the day be- 
gan to break, lowering and cold. Out of the 
gray came stepping two great tall fellows, as 
though they had risen from the sand. They 
were dressed in the blue jerseys of common 
fisher-folk, and touched their caps civilly 
enough. 

“ ‘ Morning to you, sir,’ said one. ‘Where ’ll 
you be going so early?’ 

“ ‘I ’m off to have another look at the wreck, ’ 
said Roger. 

“ ‘Wreck?’ said the man. ‘I know of no 
wreck, sir.’ 

“ ‘It ’s not possible,’ cried Roger, ‘that 
you ’ve not seen the great schooner that went on 


96 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


the rocks yesterday ! Why, she ’s yonder, man ; 
you can almost see her ! ’ 

“As he pointed up the beach, the two men 
hurled themselves upon him at once and bore 
him down. Despite his struggle — for he was a 
strong lad — they bound him hand and foot. 

“ ‘It ’s best for you not to look again at no 
wrecks about here, sir,” said the taller of the 
two fellows, and off they strode. 

“After Roger had struggled vainly for a 
time, and his first fury had passed, he looked 
about him and saw that he was in a very un- 
likely position. He lay upon the utmost edge 
of the shingle, and the tide was rising, creeping 
ever nearer and nearer to him with wet, hungry 
fingers. 

“ ‘At least/ thought Roger, ‘I must get me 
away from the water.’ 

“For well he knew the quick flood of the Cor- 
nish tides that pursued swiftly and relentlessly. 
By dint of much rolling and wriggling he 
hitched himself farther up the sand, where, 
luckily enough for him, he found a great strip 
of rusted iron from a ship’s keel. Feverishly 
he set about rubbing the cords that bound his 
hands against the edge of this. There was no 
time to lose, for the place where he sat was far 


BANGOR HEAD 


97 


below high-water mark. Even as he sawed and 
chafed at the fraying rope, a wave licked about 
his leg, cold as ice. The next, he knew, would 
cover him ; the next — The water dashed over 
him, drenching him with a rush of spray. He 
struggled up, half smothered. Desperately he 
attacked his bonds again. The cord parted! 
In a flash he had drawn his knife and cut his 
ankles free. He leaped up as the next wave 
surged around him and, turning, raced up the 
beach. 

i ‘ Though he was wet to the skin and shiver- 
ing with cold, it was impossible to go back to 
Radulgo, and there was nothing for it but to 
strike across country. But what with climbing 
up and up from the shore and stumbling through 
the gorse in the early light, he lost his direction 
and found himself at last upon the far side of 
Bangor Head. The great rock dropped sheer 
away at his feet, with gulls screaming halfway 
down its towering height ; and below lay a little 
crescent of white sand. Great needle-like rocks 
sprang from the sea before it, and the crag rose 
straight behind, so that Roger thought no hu- 
man foot could ever have trod the place. Yet, 
as he lay in the heather, gazing down at the 
smother of foam far below, he saw the figure 


98 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


of a woman in a white dress, and she was weep- 
ing bitterly. Roger put his hands to his month 
and shouted down the rock, and she heard him 
above the roar of the surf and held out her arms 
in a desperate appeal. Roger was a brave lad 
and not one to see a lady in distress and leave 
her unaided, so what must he do but prepare to 
climb down the face of that horrible crag.” 

“He must have had awfully good sea-legs,” 
murmured Garth. 

“He had excellent ones, but, even so, it was 
a fearful and dangerous thing. There was but 
little foothold, and Roger clung with his hands 
and gripped with his knees, catching now at a 
stunted gorse bush growing from a crack, now 
at a crumbling niche in the rock. The gulls, 
fearful for their nests, swooped shrieking past 
him, and the grinding roar of the breakers was 
far below. But at last he stood panting on the 
sand beside the lady, whose beautiful face was 
as white as her gown. She caught Roger ’s arm. 

“ ‘ Why did you comeT she cried. ‘Now 
there will be but another to perish here!’ 

“ ‘But how were you brought here?’ asked 
Roger. ‘ Surely, where there is a way in, there 
must also be a way out. ’ 

“ ‘Alas/ sighed the lady, ‘it is an unhappy 


RANGOR HEAD 


99 


tale. Only yesterday at noon we were safe 
aboard the good schooner Arthgallo, bound for 
Perth. But when we neared this dangerous 
coast the captain was troubled and took on a 
pilot, an ill-favored man, yellow as a citron. ’ 

“ ‘Ah!’ said Roger. 

“ ‘As we rounded this fearful headland,’ the 
lady went on, ‘I saw the yellow man turn the 
wheel suddenly with all his might, and then, 
with a scream of terror and agony, he leaped 
overboard. A sailor sprang to the wheel, but it 
was too late, — the ship had driven upon the 
rocks. Of all those who were aboard, it seems 
that I am the only survivor. I was dragged 
down the beach by two of the cruel wreckers 
who were gathering around the broken ship, 
and I was thrust into a dark and noisome tunnel 
in the cliffs.’ 

“ ‘Ah,’ said Roger, ‘ that was when I saw you 
so suddenly disappear and could not believe my 
eyes. And no wonder the Yellow Man was in 
such terror! Well might he have been warned 
to escape ! And this now becomes clearer. ’ He 
drew from his pocket the torn bit of paper, 
which he saw now might easily have read: ‘It 
is hereby covenanted that you run the schooner 
Arthgallo upon the rocks of Rangor Head, for 


100 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

■which service we agree to pay you the sum of 
£ 20 .’ 

“ ‘But proceed with your story, madam,’ he 
said. 

“ ‘The men closed the entrance of the tunnel 
with a great rock/ said the lady, ‘which they 
well knew no woman could remove, and left me 
to creep through the dank, dripping cavern. 
After much difficulty I saw light gleaming at 
last, and finally stood, as you see, upon this iso- 
lated beach. ’ 

“Roger now told his tale. From the two it 
was quite plain that the wreckers, or smugglers, 
or whatever the villainous population of Ra- 
dulgo might be called, meant to let no strangers 
escape to the outer world with news of their 
doings. 

“‘But show me this tunnel/ said Roger; 
‘perhaps where woman’s strength is not enough, 
man’s will prevail.’ 

“She pointed out a dark opening in the cliff, 
and together they crept in. At times the ledge 
of rock along which they crawled dropped away 
at one side, and they could hear inky water 
choking and swirling below. Sometimes there 
was room enough for them to stand upright, but 
always they were in smothering darkness. At 


RANGOR HEAD 


101 


length chinks of light showed about the edge of 
the great stone which had been rolled against 
the mouth of the passage. Roger set his shoul- 
der to it and, with a mighty thrust, jarred it 
from its balance, and it fell thundering. They 
stepped out upon the beach above Radulgo, 
under Rangor Head. Just before them, high 
and dry upon the rocks, lay the Arthgallo. She 
had been thoroughly dismantled by the wreck- 
ers ; everything which could be carried away was 
gone. But beyond, standing out to sea, was a 
great ship — ” 

“A square-rigger, Fogger?" 

“Yes, a square-rigger. She was towering 
along under a misty cloud of canvas, with a line 
of white water at her foot. And the lady rigged 
a white petticoat upon a long staff, and Roger 
kindled a fire of damp driftwood. So, between 
them, they signaled in distress, but the ship 
paid no heed. But lo ! just as she seemed ready 
to stand off again and pass them by, of a sudden 
she backed up her tops'ls and hove to, and they 
saw the long-boat put off from her. And I 
think that 's a rather good place to stop . 1 7 

“Fogger! But what happened to the wreck- 
ers? Didn't they be captured?" Garth 
clutched his father excitedly. 


102 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

4 4 Oh, of course ! The captain of the ship sent 
ashore a landing-force with carbines and cut- 
lasses, and all of the evil folk who hadn’t es- 
caped already were taken and put in chains. 
And they found any quantity of gold, and spices, 
and carven jade, and loot of all kinds, stowed 
away in caves about Rangor Head.” 

“What became of the Yellow Man!” asked 
Joan. 

4 4 Kalikao ! He was never seen again ; that is, 
not in this story . 9 9 

4 4 And Roger and the lady!” said Elspeth. 

4 4 As for them said Jim, 44 I suppose they 
were married and lived happily ever after. 
And if we don’t want schooners and tugs run- 
ning up on the Reef, we ’d better make sail and 
back to the Light before sunset. Up you go, 
Pern!” 


CHAPTER X 


FISHASHKI 



FEW days after the picnic on Hy Brasail, 


IJL Joan and Elspeth were sitting on the 
bench beside those flower-boxes that Jim called 
“the informal garden.” They were reading to 
each other by turns and casting an eye occa- 
sionally upon Garth, who was engaged in dab- 
bling after bait-crabs among the pools. The 
book proved so absorbing that they did not see 
the approach of a very new and much- varnished 
motorboat until it had gone foul of the dory’s 
moorings, run into the landing, and expired 
with a final snort against the rocks. 

“He oughtn’t to be out in a boat alone, if 
that ’s the best he can do !” Elspeth commented. 
“Who can it be?” 

The occupant of the launch picked himself 
out of the engine, looked ruefully at his once 
immaculate white flannels, and climbed out upon 
the pier. 


“Gracious,” whispered Joan, “it ’s Fish- 
ashki!” 


103 


104 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


The Russian, for it was really he, strode up 
the rock, staring about him as he came, and 
halted before Joan and Elspeth. 

“Is this the keepair’s wife?” he demanded of 
Elspeth, who had risen to greet him. 

“Yes,” she assented meekly. “Do you wish 
to see my husband?” 

“No, no, do not trobble him,” said the Count. 
“I wish to make a sketch from his landing, of 
the bay. I have permission ? ’ ’ 

“I ’m afraid that would be against Govern- 
ment rules just now,” said Elspeth, “but Mr. 
Pemberley will speak to you about it. * 7 

The Count settled himself on the rock and 
opened his sketch-box tentatively. 

“He takes us for natives and treats us as 
such,” whispered Elspeth at the door. “He 
nearly said, ‘my good woman M” 

No sooner had she stepped inside the house 
than the visitor began preparations for sketch- 
ing. Joan, who still sat beside the garden- 
boxes, lifted a surprised eyebrow, but decided 
that remonstrance was not her business. 

The Russian was wielding a large brush with 
astonishing results. He daubed his canvas in 
divers-colored patches which he then proceeded 
to surround by heavy black outlines and green 


FISHASHKI 


105 


dots. Garth imprisoned his crabs in a pen of 
stones and, climbing up the rock, sat down be- 
hind the Count. He looked very earnestly at 
the work of art, to which a number of spiral 
white lines were being added in various places. 
He looked up at the reach of blue, glittering 
water ; the hazy pattern of mainland, in buff and 
green and orange; the clean-cut shape of the 
Ailouros, luminously white in the sunshine. 
He looked soberly at the face of the unconscious 
artist, and then he went back to the crabs. 

Joan also studied the painting and observed 
the painter from farther away. He was a tall 
lithe man, with a square face illuminated by a 
flaming intensity of purpose in the deep-set 
eyes. His hair was black, and a faint mous- 
tache darkened his upper lip. Joan fancied 
him a perfect representative of “the true Slavic 
type,” as she conceived it. 

Jim, who had been standing with Elspeth at 
the door for some minutes, now strolled down 
and looked over the Count's shoulder. 

“Neo-vorticismf” he inquired softly. 

The Russian started and turned quickly, with 
ill-concealed amazement in the look he gave this 
extraordinary lightkeeper. 

“Or is it cubo-futurism?” Jim ventured. 


106 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

“I ’m not well np in the latest artistic soul-ex- 
pansion. It ’s a long way to Greenwich Village 
from here.” 

The Count looked at him again. 

“You have the appreciation,” he said; “I 
did not expect it. You know New- York? You 
know The Artistic ? You paint, perhaps I ’ ’ 

“I write unpopular books / ’ said Jim. 

“You write ?” said the Russian. “It is The 
Artistic Appreciation, however. I must ask to 
apologize to the ladies for my manner. I sup- 
posed you to be of the people — impossible of ex- 
plaining my art.” 

He produced a card from his pocket and ex- 
tended it between two fingers. Jim glanced at 
it and, with a bow to the Russian, handed it to 
Elspeth. Comte Jean de Stysalski, the engrav- 
ing ran. 

“I prefer the French,” said the Count; “my 
full name in my own language is of great 
len’th. One pronounces it St’zalky, mes- 
dames.” 

“Have you finished your sketch?” Joan 
asked. “I should so like to hear your idea of 
what a sketch should be.” 

“It should embody the Soul,” said the Count 
promptly, painting vermilion streaks on the 


FISHASHKI 


107 


rock beside him. (Jim removed them later with 
kerosene.) “That is what I have done in these 
painting ; I put, beside what I see, that which I 
do not see but feel.” (“It ’s quite evident that 
he did n ’t see it,” Jim said afterward, “but 
Heaven help him if he feels that way!”) 

“I will explain,” said the Count. “These 
transcendent crimson I make for the land. A 
land aflame with patriotism, it should be red. 
The whole picture contains t ’ree factors — water, 
sky, land; therefore all is represented in tri- 
angles. The long arcs of white are the flights 
of sea-birds — mental flight, leaving tangible ef- 
fect on the atmosphere. That is how to do, — 
the Soul feels an effect which the eye, perhaps, 
do not witness; the hand transports it to a 
veesible form. I belong to no School; I can not 
express these thing in art as I can in music.” 

“Do you play, too?” Elspeth asked. 

“The flute,” said Stysalski. “Music is that, 
really, by which the Soul can escape.” 

“Yes,” Joan said; “it’s rather difficult to 
paint a feeling, I should imagine. Music ’s a 
more flexible medium. ’ 7 

“You play?” 

“The piano, when I ’m at home,” Joan re- 
plied. 


108 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“This is very delightful/ ’ Stysalski ex- 
claimed. “I did not dream to find charming 
friends at a lighthouse. The rest of Quimpaug 
is — ” he shrugged his shoulders — “canaille. 
My landlord, Schmidt — a German; my neigh- 
bors, — peasants. 9 ’ 

And might he, perhaps, now see the view from 
the tower? He laid aside his sketch-box as he 
spoke and prepared to follow Jim, who, how- 
ever, did not move. 

“I ’m very sorry / 9 said Jim, “but, you see, 
chance visitors are not allowed in the Light 
nowadays. Government orders, not personal 
inclination. I regret that I must ask you to 
return to the mainland, but such is my painful 
duty as keeper of this light-station . 9 1 

The Count bowed, a faint, disappointed bow, 
and stooped to fasten his sketch-box. As he 
rose he became aware of Garth, apparently for 
the first time, and strode to him. 

“How do you do, my yo’ng friend V 9 he cried 
suddenly, extending his hand to Garth, who, 
quite unprepared for this tardy greeting, had 
not time to dry his own hand in the least. 

(“He needn’t have minded/’ Garth said aft- 
erward ; “ it was perfickly clean wet sea-water. ’ ’ 

“Why didn’t you wipe it off?” his mother 


FISHASHKI 


109 


asked; “it must have been rather frog-like.” 

“I hadn’t time,” Garth explained; “I had 
to drop the nicest crab, even then.”) 

The two men walked toward the landing, and 
when Joan and Elspeth joined them the Count 
wore a puzzled expression, and Jim was saying 
gravely : 

“The whole of art can be summed up thus, 
can it not? The Thought is revealed in nine 
high-flamed bursts of symmetry, — the circum- 
ambient arc of effusion is transmuted to the 
myopic nerve; the result: sublimely superneu- 
rotic, replete with a transcendental temerity. ’ ’ 

“It is a t’eory,” Stysalski admitted, “yes, a 
t’eory.” 

But as he walked to his boat he seemed to be 
pondering deeply. 

“It has been a charming episode,” said the 
Count, as he made his adieux; “I hope to repeat 
your acquaintance. But if not here, will you 
not all have tea with me, — on Friday, let us 
say? A tea in the outdoors, as in my co’ntry. 
There is a delightful hill where it would be mos ’ 
pleasant.” 

Jim was making sail on his boat, for it was 
time to go in for the mail, and he did not hear 
the invitation, which Elspeth accepted. 


110 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“I will bring you in with my launch on Fri- 
day, ’ ’ Stysalski planned. ‘ ‘ Oh, yes, indeed ; we 
can return in time for M ’sieur to take charge of 
his lamp.” 

4 4 Why on earth did you say we ’d come?” 
grumbled Jim, when the motorboat had passed 
the Ailouros and was careening gaily toward 
Quimpaug. “I can think of lots better things 
to do with an afternoon than to take tea with 
that!” 

“Why, we thought he was quite nice,” El- 
speth said; “wild as to art, of course, but fas- 
cinating, in a way. And it was rather hard, 
having to turn him away. I do think he ’s 
amusing. His picture is ridiculous, but he 
really seems so earnest about his ideas.” 

“That ’s what I liked about him,” Joan 
agreed. “He has that whole-souled, fiery en- 
thusiasm of other Russians I Ve met, though 
his manner is fearfully affected.” 

“He can’t help that, I suppose,” Elspeth 
said, “being a titled furriner.” 

“I ’d never have thought it of my usually 
sane wife!” Jim groaned. “Why, he ’s a mon- 
umental ass. Did you see him taking in all that 
rubbish of mine as we came down?” 


FISHASHKI 


111 


“Yes, but that was rather horrid of you. He 
probably has nta wide enough English vocabu- 
lary to know whether it was rubbish or not.” 

‘ ‘ Then he ought to have said so, instead of 
saying, ‘Yes, a theory !’ Upon my word, I 
really can ’t see anything in a man who butchers 
a thing like this — ” Jim swept his arm land- 
ward — “and then tells you that he represents it 
in triangles because there are three elements in 
the picture! Ugh! He might as well have 
stayed in Russia and painted pictures from 
imagination ! ’ ’ 

“Why, how wrathy you are!” Joan remon- 
strated. “Of course he ’s misguided, but he 
seems to believe so intensely in his music and 
his art.” 

Jim pulled tremendously hard at his pipe and 
remained silent. 

“How do you like him, Garth?” asked his 
mother. 

“I don’t,” Garth answered briefly. 

“Your father’s own son!” cried Jim. “If 
you have a crab in your paw the next time you 
shake hands with him, don’t drop it!” 

“Jim!” rebuked Elspeth. 

“Oh, he ’d be all right hanging over a samo- 


112 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


var in a new-art studio/ ’ growled Jim. “He 
just doesn’t fit in with my ideas, that ’s all. 
Slide along there, Pern, and let me have a little 
room to steer.” 


CHAPTER XI 


CURRANT WINE AND CURIOUS THINGS 

W HEN they reached Quimpaug, the 
Count’s boat was moored and its owner 
nowhere to be seen. The Pemberleys and Joan 
disembarked and went up into the village to do 
various errands. Before the delivery window 
at the post-office stood a plump old lady in an 
alpaca dress and a black straw bonnet amaz- 
ingly small and rusty. 

4 'That’s old Mrs. Bassett,” Elspeth mur- 
mured to Joan. "You saw her daughter, I 
think, when you were looking for a lodging that 
night.” 

The old lady turned just then, and her round 
face broke into a hundred kindly wrinkles of 
pleasure. She beamed delightedly through her 
silver-rimmed spectacles, and cried out: 

"Well, now! Seems to me I jest never see 
you folks! You al’ays come in jest when I ’m 
gen ’ally back home. How be you?” She 
turned to Joan. "You ’re the young lady from 

113 


114 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


the City, I should n’t wonder. An’ 1 ’ve been 
jest honin’ to see you ever sence thet night you 
come up with ’Bijah. I ain’t had no chance to 
tell you how vexed I was we could n’t take you 
in; an’ I been thinkin’ ever sence how I guessed 
my daughter was tur’ble hasty with you; but 
’Gusta Louise she ’s one that ’ll git so flustered 
she won’t know where she ’s at.” 

“Don’t think about that twice,” Joan reas- 
sured her. “Of course she was upset when 
guests came so unexpectedly. It was too bad 
that we should have disturbed you at all.” 

“I guess you been havin’ a better time out 
yonder than if you ’d ha’ stayed in Quimpaug,” 
Mrs. Bassett ventured. “I ’ve al’ays thought 
it must be real peaceful out there. ’ ’ She looked 
at Garth with bright, kindly eyes. “Seems to 
me,” she proposed, “like I ’ve jest got a notion 
I want this boy to go along up to my house with 
me an’ make me a little visit. You ain’t goin’ 
right back so quick he couldn’t stay a little 
spell, air you?” 

“We ’ve enough to do to keep us for a while,” 
Elspeth told her. “It ’s ever so kind of you, 
Mrs. Bassett. We ’ll stop for him when we 
go.” 

So the two went off together up the bright, 


CURRANT WINE 


115 


unshaded street, Mrs. Bassett carefully lifting 
her alpaca skirts, Garth trudging earnestly be- 
side her, trailing his shoes in the dusty grass at 
the edge of the road. The hill was not easy for 
either of them to climb, and they proceeded 
slowly, talking most amiably. 

“I don't think I 've ever been inside your 
house," Garth said, as Mrs. Bassett clicked 
open the white gate and stopped to twine an 
escaped spray of honeysuckle back among the 
fence-palings. 

‘ 4 That 's what I was thinkin'," she assented. 
“I thought 'twas about time you come, seein’ 
we known each other in passin' so long. You 
come right in here, whilst I take off my bunnit, 
an' then we 'll go in the parlor an' look at some 
cur'ous things." 

When she had removed the bonnet and 
straightened her. dress, she led the way through 
the “settin'-room" and unlocked the door of 
the front parlor. It was very dark there, for 
the blinds were closed, so dark that Garth, 
newly come from the glaring white road, caught 
only a glint here and there from shapes in the 
gloom. There was a strange, composite smell 
of matting and old, imprisoned upholstery, and 
something spicy, too, and rare. 


116 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Mrs. Bassett rustled to the window and 
opened a shutter. A broad ray streamed in, 
full of dancing motes, and the room sprang sud- 
denly into shape and color. The flowers of the 
carpet leaped into gaudy bloom, the haircloth- 
covered chairs seemed to stretch out their old 
arms to the unfamiliar light. And, made visi- 
ble now, Garth saw many odd things ranged on 
the shelves and ‘ 1 whatnots’ ’ in the room. Mrs. 
Bassett beckoned him to her side, where she 
stood peering into a cupboard. She opened its 
glass doors and very carefully took out first one 
thing and then another, putting them in a row 
upon the table. There was a curious figure, 
made of ivory; a charm cut in jade and sus- 
pended from a tarnished silver tassel; a little 
roll of amber-colored India silk; a tiny boat, 
carved from a peach-stone and polished by the 
handling of many centuries. 

“My father was a sea-farin’ man,” Mrs. Bas- 
sett explained, “an’ my grandfather afore him. 
I can jest recollect, like ’twas yesterday, run- 
nin’ down to the quay when gran ’pa’s ship come 
in. ’T wa ’n ’t here in Quimpaug, but in my old 
home; I was a little thing, knee high to a hop- 
pergrass. Gran ’pa ’d set me aboard, an’ oh 
my, the things he ’d show me in his cabin ! An ’ 


CURRANT WINE 


117 


then the things he ’d bring up to our house — 
heathen things, though they was real pretty, un- 
loaded out o’ the boxes right in our yard an’ 
settin’ in our house. But ’tis mostly my fa- 
ther’s cornin’ home I remember. He sailed fust 
as mate with my grandfather, an’ then when 
gran ’pa died, he was master. Why, when I was 
a young girl, afore I was married, I went a 
vy’age round the Horn with pa.” 

“Did you? Really?” Garth cried eagerly, 
looking up from the array of wonders on the 
table. 

“I did, for sure,” Mrs. Bassett said. “All 
of it I did n’t enj ’y greatly, but we visited very 
cur’ous lands. Yes, ’t was interestin’; an’ I do 
love a ship on the sea, an’ the life aboard her.” 

“My grandfather was a sea-faring man, too,” 
Garth observed, poring over the intricacies of a 
smooth sandal-wood puzzle. 

“Was he, now?” Mrs. Bassett said encourag- 
ingly. Quimpaug was always on the alert for 
scraps of information about the Pemberleys. 

“My father is going into the Navy,” Garth 
told her; “but that is n’t quite like being a real 
sea-captain. My great-grandfather was in the 
Navy, too, but it was before battleships stopped 
having sails. He commanded a frigate, and it 


118 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


must have been much wonderfuller than com- 
manding a dreadnaught. ’ ’ 

“You ’ve got the old feeling ain’t you!” Mrs. 
Bassett said. “My father was one could never 
abide nor abear steam. ‘ Give me good canvas, ’ 
says he, ‘ an’ the four winds o’ heaven thet God 
A ’mighty meant fer us to use.’ ’T was a trial 
to me, sometimes, thet my husband never keered 
about the sea. He farmed it all his life, an’ it 
al’ays gave him a qualm, like, to set foot in a 
skiff. An’ we never had e’er a son to follow 
the sea. I did hope fer thet, but ’Gusta Louise 
she ’s jest like her pa was, — you couldn’t pay 
her to go near a boat. An’ her brung up as a 
girl right aside o’ the water, too. Ain’t it 
cur’ous!” 

“I should think you ’d get somebody to take 
you on more voyages,” Garth suggested, “when 
you like it so much. It ’s funny how, when peo- 
ple want to do things, they can’t; and then lots 
of times people that can, don’t want to. I want 
to follow the sea more than anything, and I ’ll 
never be able to.” 

“Sho’, now!” Mrs. Bassett sympathized. 
“You ’re jest a little young one yet ; I should n’t 
wonder but what you can go to sea when you 
grow up.” 


CURRANT WINE 119 

Garth shook his head and bent over the 
golden filigree bracelet in his hand. 

“No,” he said gently, “not ever.” 

Mrs. Bassett wiped her spectacles and 
straightened them. 

“You set here,” she said, “an' I ’ll be right 
back in.” 

So Garth sat and fingered the treasures which 
the old seamen had brought from the ends of the 
world half a century and more ago, and dreamed 
of the way of a ship on the seas and of en- 
chanted islands in far waters. And he was so 
deep in his imaginings that when Mrs. Bassett 
put dow T n a tray on the table beside him, he 
started. 

“Jest a sip o’ currant wine,” she explained. 
“ 'T ain’t really wine, — jest juice an' sugar; 
’t won't hurt ye. No, I don' keer fer any right 
now, thank you. ' ' For there was only one glass 
on the tray beside the saucer of hermit cookies. 

It was a very wonderful glass. There could 
hardly have been more than one in the world, 
Garth thought. It was quite different from the 
glasses at Silver Shoal Light, for it was red, 
fading to yellow at the top, and it had a gold 
rim and golden flowers painted upon it. 

“’Twas my mother's,” Mrs. Bassett told 


120 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

him. “I thought mebbe you ’d relish a drink 
out o’ it.” 

Garth did. Even if the currant wine had not 
been so exceedingly good, it would have seemed 
to be so, drunk from that remarkable glass. 

6 ‘Look at this!” said the hostess, holding out 
a hook-handled gourd, with strange patterns 
burned upon it. “My father told me the 
heathen drank tea out o’ it, — put a straw or a 
pipe in at this hole, an’ sucked it up. I 
couldn’t enj’y it thet way; I ’d ruther have a 
good dish o’ tea right from the pot into the 
cup. Real bad-tastin’ stuff, my father said 
’t was, too. An’ this drum I useter be able to 
beat on, but ’t is gettin ’ so old now I ’m a mite 
af eared to. ’T is a tom-tom the savages had. 
My father said they ’d jest as soon put you in 
a pot an’ cook you as not, dancin’ around beatin’ 
on them drums ; but none o ’ the savages I ever 
see on my vy’age was anythin’ but real pleasant 
an’ friendly. An’ ’twas somethin’ wonderful, 
my father said, the way some he seen had pat- 
terns painted all over their bare skin!” 

“Oh, dear!” Garth cried, putting down the 
glass. “There comes Fogger up the path! I 
want to stay lots longer ; I ’m having such a 
nice time.” 


CURRANT WINE 


121 


“Well, I ’m real pleased !” beamed the old 
lady. “You ’d ought to ha’ come sooner. 
Wait, now, whilst I open the door fer your pa.” 

When she returned with Jim, Garth must 
show his father all the wonderful things, and 
rattled off such a hasty account of savages, tea, 
voyages to the Horn, tom-toms, and currant 
wine, that Jim was left gasping. 

“You ’d better take an hour this evening to 
tell me,” he said. “I ’m sorry to remove you 
from this treasure-room, but it ’s growing 
nearer and nearer light-up time. 

Garth got up and held out his hand to Mrs. 
Bassett, who took it in both hers and then kissed 
him. 

“I ’d like to give you one o’ my granpa’s 
things,” she said, “fer you to remember me 
by. Yes, I ’m agoin’ to,” she persisted, in re- 
ply to Jim’s protest. “Yes, Ga’th, I want you 
to have it. You ’ve got the old feelin’, like I 
said, an’ ’twill mean suthin’ more to you than 
jest a gimcrack. ’Gusta Louise, she ’ll never 
think twicet o’ these things when I ’m gone.” 

And she put into his hand the little boat that 
was all carved from a peach-stone, with its curly 
prow, and its Chinese sailors, and its exquisitely 
cut cargo of rice bales, anciently golden, pol- 


122 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


ished and smoothed by innumerable hands. 
Garth flung his arms impulsively about her as 
she bent toward him, and hugged her as he 
would have hugged Jim or Elspeth. Old Mrs. 
Bassett, who had no son to follow the sea, held 
him very tightly, with a comprehension of his 
own longing never to be fulfilled. 

A Letter from Elspeth Pemberley to Her 
Brother 

Silver Shoal, 
July 3rd. 

Dearest Brob: 

I ’m glad that you are not bored with hearing so 
much about Joan (I have followed Garth’s early ex- 
ample and dropped the surname). Her week slipped 
away some time ago, and now* she is staying on as a 
“paying guest.” Government provisions are not in- 
volved, and Jim’s Record is undisturbed. I asked 
her to stay at first because I was sorry for the poor 
soul, — homeless for the moment, and so worried, — but 
now we want her to be here because she ’s nice and 
fits in with everything we do quite as though she were 
one of us. She ’s really a dear, and a different per- 
son than she was at first. Garth is devoted to her, 
and she is with him all day long. 

I hate to think of your adding “slumming” to your 
already busy days. You ought to ride, or something, 
after a hard morning’s work, instead of poking 
through tenements. But you know I ’m sympathetic. 
How I wish that your poor little pale kiddies could 


CURRANT WINE 


123 


feel the breeze that is blowing through my window 
now, and could cultivate such a tan as Garth’s ! (And 
such an appetite !) 

Oh, there was never a happier experiment than 
this! Of course, it can not last forever. If Jim 
really enters the Navy in the fall, this will be our last 
summer. But when I look back and review it all, I 
bless the inspiration that made us think of such an 
unheard-of plan. Do you remember how every one 
laughed? But behold us! Garth saved, Jim made 
over, a number of books to show for his leisure, your 
sister a marvel of health, energy, and contentment! 
The lighthouse pay, which seemed so small at first, 
goes amazingly far out here; it does make such a 
difference when fuel and lodging are supplied. Quim- 
paug certainly offers no temptations to part with extra 
shillings, and you know how we dress! Book royal- 
ties have a surprising way of mounting up, also, and 
we feel positively wealthy on what would shrivel to 
nothing in your horrible city. 

We had a caller from Civilization the other day, 
incidentally. It was the Russian Count, if you 
please. His name is Stysalski, though Jim sticks to 
Fishashki. He did a weirdly awful futurist sketch 
from the landing, but despite that, Joan and I quite 
liked his earnest, Slavic intensity. Jim scorns him; 
nevertheless, we all go to tea with the noble gentle- 
man on Friday. Joan seems quite interested in him. 
He plays the flute, by the way ; better than he paints, 
we hope ! 

Jim sends his best greetings. He is grinding away 
at his naval work very hard, but he manages to have 


124 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


some fun with us, too. He tells me that I must stop, 
as he ’s going in for the mail now. Give my love to 
the tenement babies! Tell them that there is a lady 
who lives in a lighthouse (I don’t suppose they could 
imagine a lighthouse, could they?) and that she 
wishes she could send them a nice little wet wave, 
wrapped up in a sea-wind, but that she ’s afraid the 
postman would n’t stand for it ! 

Lots of love, 


Elspeth. 


CHAPTER XII 


PAN-PIPES 

T HE Fourth of July had come and gone. 

Jim, after remarking that he wished the 
Light could burn red, white, and blue in thirteen 
flashes, had gazed regretfully at it and sounded 
a formal salute on the fog-bell. The rest of the 
family had striven to show their spirit by add- 
ing bows and neckties of scarlet to the blue and 
white of their usual costume. They had all 
taken a sail outside, — the Ailouros very fes- 
tive, with her ensign and pennant flying, — and 
in the evening Garth had set off a package of 
“ sparklers ’ ’ on the landing. A few feeble 
rockets had wriggled up from the dooryard of 
some patriotic soul in Quimpaug, and Garth 
stayed up until long past his bedtime, watching 
them and listening to his elders ’ reminiscences 
of sensational fireworks on bygone Fourths. 

Of the modest celebration nothing remained 
next day, except the little flag in Jim’s button- 
hole. He lay basking on the rock in idle con- 
125 


126 SILVEE SHOAL LIGHT 
tentment. Garth, who was sprawled across his 
father’s knees, sat up suddenly. 

“Look at the motorboat coming here!” said 
he. Jim sat up, too. 

* i Glory !” he said.. i i It ’s Fishashki, coming 
to take us to his party! I ’d forgotten it was 
Friday ; I always did believe it was an unlucky 
day. Br-r-r-r! Shall we have to dress up, 
Elspeth ? ’ ’ 

“1 don't intend to," said his wife. 

i ‘ Qne blessing ! ’ ’ sighed Jim. ‘ 1 If he does n ’t 
like our clothes, he ’ll have to put up with them. 
Perhaps he ’ll think they ’re a tangible expres- 
sion of our souls, or something. Get oft me, 
dear old thing, so that I can rise up and seize his 
6 putt-putt’ before it runs down all that ’s left 
of the landing.” 

‘ ‘You ’d better stop calling him ‘Fishashki,’ 
you and Garth,” warned Elspeth; “you ’ll for- 
get and call him that to his face some time.” 

The Count, when he had landed safely, was 
“enchanted.” Such a perfect day! Such de- 
lightful company! He helped the ladies into 
his boat and started the engine very airily. 

“I am becoming quite a mechanic at these 
boat,” he informed them. “I get great fun 
from it, — always can go, do not have to depend 


PAN-PIPES 


127 


on sails and wind. I would imagine you would 
find such a boat better at your lighthouse.” 

“We love sailing,” Elspeth replied. “I 
don’t think that we could bear to give up the 
Ailouros. My husband doesn’t quite approve 
of power-boats.” 

“Sot” said Sty salski. “But they are so uni- 
form, so dependable, so—” At that moment 
his engine gurgled, sputtered a few times, and 
gasped itself into silence and inactivity. The 
Count grew rather red, though he smiled very 
gaily. 

“Nothing at all!” he assured his passengers. 
“We shall be off again in a moment !” 

He spun the fly-wheel. The engine wheezed, 
turned over, and relapsed into immovability. 
He blew into the carburetor ; he unscrewed the 
spark-plugs and examined them ; he did every- 
thing he could think of, but the motor refused 
to start. The Count’s neatly-brushed hair 
hung over his eyes; there was a large spot of 
machine-oil on his white trousers. He growled 
something at the engine, then bit his lip and was 
silent. 

Jim glanced up quickly, and said : 

“Any gasoline?” 

Yes, the tank was almost full— the Count had 


128 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


replenished it before leaving Quimpaug. Jim 
took his arm from about Garth’s shoulders and 
went slowly to the bow of the boat. He ran his 
eye over the engine, then over the tank. He 
took out his knife and opened that useful part 
usually known as a “thing-to-take-stones-out- 
of-horses ’-hoof s-with. ’ ’ 

“When the little air-hole in the top of the 
tank is stopped up,” he remarked, “no more gas 
can go into the carburetor ; and when what ’s in 
there is exhausted, your engine stops.” He 
poked a bit of dirt from the hole and shut his 
knife. “Now try her,” he said, returning to 
his seat. 

The Count’s profuse thanks did not hide his 
angry humiliation when the engine started up 
smoothly, and the boat, which had been drifting 
in a circle, proceeded evenly on its way. 

‘ ‘ That ’s a thing every good mechanic should 
remember,” said Jim mildly, holding out his 
cigarette case. 

The Russian made his boat fast at a pier in 
Quimpaug and, conversing gaily with the ladies, 
set off up the hill at a brisk pace. 

“Let ’s slow up just a bit,” Jim suggested; 
“all of us can’t walk quite so fast as that.” 


PAN-PIPES 


129 


Stysalski wheeled around with a scowl of irri- 
tation that he did not instantly conceal. Garth 
flushed slowly and slid his hand into his fa- 
ther^. 

“Ex-cuse me,” said the Count stiffly, with a 
needlessly elaborate how. He turned sharply 
and went on, walking between Joan and El- 
speth at a very slightly moderated pace; their 
attempts to go more slowly did not affect him 
at all. It was quite a steep hill, and the other 
two dropped behind. Jim helped Garth, and 
they talked about all sorts of things. 

Presently they caught up with the rest, who 
were standing in front of Schmidts butcher- 
shop. 

“The Count has gone up to his rooms to get 
the tea-things and his flute,” Joan explained. 

Garth leaned against his father. 

“Is the place where we ’re going many miles 
away, Fogger?” he asked, with the faintest of 
sighs. 

“I ’m going to carry you now,” Jim replied. 
“I dare say it ’s halfway to Tewksville.” 

The Russian reappeared, bearing two large 
baskets very tidily covered with white napkins ; 
and also his flute, in a case, under one arm. 


130 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“May I trobble you with one of these ?” he 
inquired, holding a basket toward Jim, who had 
lifted Garth into his arms. 

“I ’m sorry, ’ ’ Jim said, “but I ’m carrying 
my son just now.” 

“Certainly; ex-cuse me — again,” muttered 
the Count. Joan took the flute, and Stysalski 
strode off with her and Elspeth. Elspeth 
looked back over her shoulder and blew a kiss 
to Garth. 

/ “I like you to say < my son,’ ” said Garth, as 
Jim fell behind again. “It makes me feel so 
sort of honorable.” 

“Honorable!” laughed Jim. “Well, aren’t 
you my son? Why shouldn’t I? Should you 
like to be his? Hi! don’t hug me to death! 
Forgive me, I prithee!” They rubbed each 
other’s cheeks together, and Jim settled Garth 
more firmly against his shoulder. 

The hill where Stysalski had staged his pic- 
nic was between Quimpaug and the sea, the very 
point which cut off the village from a view of 
the open ocean and the lighthouse from a sight 
of the town. Silver Shoal Light could be very 
plainly seen, with the Ailouros moored before 
it and even the tiny, distant figure of Caleb 
moving toward the landing. 


PAN-PIPES 


131 


The Count apologized deeply for the cups and 
saucers which he was setting out upon the grass 
on a white cloth. He had none of his own 
things; he deplored the absence of a samovar. 
He found some difficulty in keeping alight the 
alcohol lamp under his tea-kettle, until Jim sug- 
gested moving the apparatus into the lee of a 
big rock on the crest of the hill. There it 
burned merrily, and the water boiled very soon. 
The Count spread out any number of thin sand- 
wiches — caviar and pimento, and all sorts of 
exotic varieties which surely had not been made 
from any materials Quimpaug could furnish. 

Jim, who had been silent for some time, 
looked up quickly and said : 

“Eta prevaskodny chai.” 

“Oh, er — vyerny,” murmured the Count. 
“How delightful that you speak my language, 
Monsieur; but I shall be so much happier to 
speak Anglish with you. I can never have too 
much time to perfect my Anglish !” He turned 
hastily to Joan and went on with a broken-off 
conversation about Rimsky Korsakow and Rus- 
sian music. 

After tea, at the urgent request of two of his 
guests, he took out his flute. 

“I shall play that delicious suite ,’ ’ he said, 


132 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“ ‘Pan and the Shepherds/ ‘Pan and the Birds/ 
— those others.’ ’ 

He put the instrument to his lips ; then magic 
happened. For it took little fancy to see the 
windy hilltop peopled with prancing fauns and 
flitting nymphs ; clean-limbed, simple shepherds 
with oaten pipes ; and brown, crook-legged 
satyrs, dancing to the eerie trilling of Stysal- 
ski’s flute. And, at the end, came Pan all alone, 
crooning into his mournful reeds until no sound 
was left but the wind in the grass. Garth, who 
was curled up beside his father, opened his eyes 
and whispered raptly : 

“I didn’t know anything could be so won- 
derful. It made me see fairies, and druids, and 
all kinds of things.” 

“I don’t think you mean druids, old dear,” 
whispered Jim, “but I know how you feel,” 
and he joined in the sincere compliments of the 
others. 

The Count played on, — Tschaikowsky, and 
Beethoven, and Rimsky Korsakow, — till the 
shadows began to lengthen, and Jim, who had 
been charmed almost into forgetfulness of his 
duty, sprang up, thinking of the Light. 

Carrying empty baskets downhill is a much 
easier task than dragging full ones up, and Sty- 


PAN-PIPES 


133 


salski’s good humor was undimmed during the 
return to Quimpaug. He cast a stealthy glance 
at the air-hole in the gasoline tank as he started 
his motor, however. The engine behaved irre- 
proachably, and he made quite a neat landing 
at the lighthouse pier. 

“You have given us true pleasure,’ ’ Jim said, 
shaking the Russian’s hand. “You should ex- 
press yourself always in music.” 

Garth looked up at his father, and then at 
the Count. Then he put out his hand a little 
hesitantly. 

“Thank you,” he said, “for the music.” 

Stysalski stared rather apprehensively at the 
brown hand which was offered him; then he 
turned away, with a sidelong glance. Garth’s 
arm dropped to his side; his hand closed me- 
chanically upon his crutch; but his eyes, very 
grave and troubled, were fixed on the Count’s 
back. 

Joan sat holding the yarn which Elspeth was 
winding that evening after supper. Jim came 
down from upstairs, where he had stopped, in 
passing, to tell Garth a “four-minute story.” 

“Another sort of yarn was being unwound 
up there,” he said, as he turned up the student- 


134 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

lamp and sat down. ‘ ‘ He ’s far from being 
asleep.’ ’ 

4 ‘Too much Slavic music, perhaps,” said El- 
speth; “it seems to have made a profound im- 
pression.” 

“How do you like our friend on further ac- 
quaintance?” Joan inquired. Jim filled his 
pipe and reached for the matches. 

“Much more, for the sake of his heavenly 
music,” he replied, “and much less, for his be- 
haviour to Garth. That bow was an insult. I 
could have knocked him down.” 

“He does play divinely,” Joan mused. 

“Yes,” Jim agreed, “but even Germans do 
that. What did he talk to you about all the time 
he was marathoning up that hill?” 

“Oh, very interesting things; about his home 
in Russia,” Joan answered. “It appears that 
he has a great, old, gaunt, ancestral place, and 
in the winter he and a few faithful servitors go 
wolf-hunting on the steppe. They do squat- 
dances around the camp-fire in the evening and 
play the balalaika. ’ ’ 

“What an idyllic scene!” said Jim. “If we 
did but know it, he probably lived in a back 
apartment in Petrograd. By the way, it ’s curi- 


PAN-PIPES 135 

ous that Russian nobility should stumble over 
its own language. ’ ’ 

i i I meant to ask. What did you say to him?’ ’ 
Elspeth questioned, rolling up the ball of yarn. 

“Said it was excellent tea,” Jim responded; 
“a simple remark, comprising almost all the 
Russian I know, except Eti sleefki skeeslees, 
meaning ‘this cream is sour,’ which was impo- 
lite and untrue. I think he said ‘Certain,* 
which is n’t particularly good grammar, and he 
boggled over that ’ ’ 

“Perhaps he was so surprised at hearing his 
own language from a lightkeeper that he was 
rattled, ’ ’ Elspeth suggested. 

“Perhaps,” Jim agreed, rather dubiously. 
He smoked in silence for some time, and then 
said: 

“It was beastly of him to refuse Garth’s 
hand. It was absolutely clean and perfectly 
dry; even if it hadn’t been, it was up to him 
to take it.” 

“I didn’t see that!” Elspeth frowned. 
“When was that?” 

“When he ’d brought us in,” Jim told her. 
“Garth went up like a gentleman and put out 
his hand, which was decent, considering the way 


136 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

Fishashki had behaved to him. The Count 
stared at him and turned away, and Pern stood 
there, looking hurt and puzzled. He ’s not used 
to people treating him that way. The man was 
enraged all afternoon, I think, at having him 
along; he wanted a strictly grown-up party, and 
he ’s not grown up enough himself to hide his 
feelings. ,, 

“I didn’t know he did that,” Elspeth said. 
i i Perhaps you ’re right, Jim.” 


CHAPTER XIII 

THE SUMMONS 

J IM, standing on the Quimpaug boat-landing 
and shuffling over the mail, tossed a letter 
down to Elspeth, who sat in the stern of the 
dory. 

“ There ’s a pleasant little missive,’ ’ said he. 
“The abhorred Blue Envelope! The death- 
warrant of a perfectly good Day, I suppose.” 

“Oh, what a bore!” groaned Elspeth, open- 
ing the envelope. “Don’t look so alarmed, 
Joan. It ’s just that the doctor wants to see 
Garth. To-morrow, of course, Jim ! Why 
does he never leave us time to change the ap- 
pointment? It might be horribly inconven- 
ient.” 

“Farewell, bright morrow!” sighed Jim, 
taking the oars. He turned to Joan. “This 
happens about twice a year,” he said, “and El- 
speth and Garth journey for millions of hot or 
cold miles, whichever the case may be. Then 
137 


138 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Dr. Stone says: ‘Well, well, well! I wish that 
all my patients could live in lighthouses ! ’ and 
then they come home again. ’ 7 
.“That seems indefinite , 7 7 said Joan. 

“Where does this doctor live? In that chaotic 
town where I came from hundreds of years 
ago?” 

“Worse,” said Jim; “he lives in what is 
called by Quimpaug folk ‘The City/ You have 
to take the Pettasantuch at 6 :37 a. m. If 
you ’re lucky, you return by her at 5 :10 p. m., 
several hours in villainous trains and hectic 
trolley-cars having intervened. Let ’s get to 
bed betimes to-night; it means a beastly early 
start.” 

The next morning broke wanly through a 
dripping fog. Joan, who came into see if the 
travelers were ready, found Elspeth with a rag- 
ing headache. 

“I don’t know what to do!” said Elspeth 
faintly. ‘ ‘ I never have headaches. But I can ’t 
stir; it ’s simply impossible. Jim can’t go, be- 
cause of the fog. I ’ve told him that he ’ll just 
have to telegraph that we can’t come, though 
it ’s not the twenty-four hours ’ notice Dr. Stone 
demands.” 


THE SUMMONS 139 

“If yon could trust me,” Joan said, “I ’ll 
go.” 

‘ ‘ Of course we trust you ! ’ ’ Elspeth said, ‘ ‘ but 
I should n’t think of asking you to go. It ’s a 
dreadful bore. ” 

“But I ’d like to,” said Joan, “if you ’d 
really let me. I mean it. ’ ’ 

“What a blessing you are!” sighed Elspeth, 
her hands pressed to her throbbing head. 

“We ’ll have to hurry, then,” said Jim, when 
Joan sought him out in the service-room and 
told him of the new plan. i ‘ There ’s no break- 
fast in view yet ; you see, I thought everything 
was off. And has anybody thought about some 
civilized clothes for Garth!” 

“I must find some for myself,” said Joan, 
who wore a very salty blue skirt and a borrowed 
jumper. “I ’ll see what he ’s doing.” 

She found Garth sitting on the floor in his 
room, struggling with an unfamiliar tan shoe. 

“These things are lots uncomfortabler than 
sneakers,” he observed, as Joan came in, “and 
I can’t find any good clothes. There ’s a sailor- 
suit somewhere. It ’s a very nice one; it has 
long trousers.” 

Joan proceeded to search. 

“Perhaps you ’d better ask Mudder to find 


140 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


it; she knows where it is,” Garth suggested. 

“Did you know,” Joan asked, “that your 
mother has a dreadfully bad headache and that 
I ’m going to town with you?” 

“I didn’t know it at all,” he said. “Poor 
Mudder! Are we really, Joan? Just us, by 
ourselves?” 

“We are,” she said, “because your father 
can’t leave while it ’s so foggy. Here are the 
good clothes, I think.” 

She produced the sailor-suit in question from 
a top drawer and cast it upon the bed. As 
Garth had said, there were long trousers, which 
were of blue serge. The white jumper had a 
dark blue collar, and an elaborate device was 
embroidered on the sleeve. 

“That’s a real, sure-enough rating,” ex- 
plained Garth, his tones somewhat muffled on 
account of his diving into the jumper. “It 
came off a real sailor. Fogger got it, and 
Mudder sewed it on. It means gunner’s mate, 
second class. And the stripe around the top 
means that I belong to the starboard watch. 
There ! Will you tie my necktie, please ? Am 
I all right?” 

He was so very much so, that when Joan had 





She hugged him suddenly 





































THE SUMMONS 141 

tied the black scarf in a sailor ’s knot, she hugged 
him suddenly. 

Jim had cooked a very creditable omelet, and 
Joan ran downstairs at his call, with Garth’s 
coat over her arm. 

“ You did n’t know that I was skilled in light 
housekeeping, as well as in lighthouse-keeping, 
did you?” Jim said, as he put the coffee-pot 
upon the table. 

Garth was still upstairs, saying a long fare- 
well to his mother. 

“You ’d think he was starting on a three 
years’ cruise,” said Jim. “Hi, Pern!” he 
shouted. “My unsurpassed cookery is grow- 
ing cold, and the Pettasantuch leaves in exactly 
forty-nine and a half minutes.” 

Garth came down finally, a little silent, and - 
they made a hasty meal. 

“I can leave the place long enough to take 
you in,” said Jim, pouring coffee. “The bell ’s 
wound for six hours, and Caleb won’t let it 
stop.” 

“Mudder ’s here, too,” said Garth. 

“Yes,” Jim said; “and I ’ve no doubt she ’d 
be as heroic as the lightkeepers’ wives in books. 
If the bell stopped, she ’d probably rise from 


142 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

her bed and cling to the clapper, like the ‘curfew 
shall not ring to-night ’ person.” 

“But that wouldn’t make it ring,” Garth ob- 
jected; “that would stop it!” 

“So it would!” Jim said. “But the princi- 
ple ’s the same. That ’s what I meant. You 
have the fortitude of a Christian martyr, Miss 
Kirkland ; it ’s going to be hotter than blazes 
in town. By the way, it might be a good idea 
to give you Dr. Stone’s address.” He scrib- 
bled it on the leaf of a note-book and handed it 
to her. “And do try to get something more 
out of him than simply the fact that it ’s good 
for people to live in lighthouses. I know that, 
myself. ’ ’ 

He rowed them over to the steamboat-land- 
ing through the fog. He had put straw mats 
on the wet seats of the dory, “for the city peo- 
ple,” as he remarked. 

“I ’m a little afraid of you both,” he said. 
“I don’t often see ladies with gloves and spotted 
veils sitting in my slippery boat. And dignified 
young gentlemen in long trousers ! Remember 
that you ’ve a hat on, Garth ; it nearly went off 
then!” 

From the upper deck of the Pettasantuck the 
dory looked very small in that expanse of gray. 


143 


THE SUMMONS 

Jim rowed a little distance away from the land- 
ing; then let his boat drift, leaning on the oars. 
On board an engine-room bell clanged. The 
green water was suddenly thrashed to foam as 
the Pettasantuch, throbbing and rattling, backed 
away from the wharf. All at once Jim stood 
up and began to signal with extended arms. 

“He ’s semaphoring,’ ’ said Garth. “Oh, I 
do wish he wouldn’t do it so fast! Oh, wait!” 
But Jim and the little boat were now a fading 
blur in the fog. “All I got was ‘Good-bye,’ ” 
said Garth, “but there was something else.” 

Very faintly they heard the bell of the unseen 
lighthouse tolling steadily, remotely, through 
the thick air. 

“You ought to know semaphore, Joan,” 
Garth said after a time. “It ’s awfully useful, 
and it ’s fun to do. Sometimes battleships come 
in — that is, they used to before we went into 
the war — and it ’s exciting to know what they 
say. 1 can’t tell what they ’re talking about, — 
they go much too fast, — but Fogger can. He 
knows all the light-signals, and those wiggly 
‘blinkies’ that go just like flashes of lightning. 
But I ’ll show you how the semaphore alpha- 
bet goes, only I never can remember which is 
M and which is S. You stick your arms out dif- 


144 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


ferent ways for all the letters, you know/’ 
He proceeded to demonstrate, telling J oan the 
letters as he made each signal. 

4 4 Of course you really ought to have flags,” 
he said, 4 4 but your arms do just as well when 
you ’re close to a person. R — S — T — ” 

Both arms being raised over his head, the 
crutches promptly clattered to the deck, and 
Garth caught at the railing and missed it. 

“Bother!” he said, as Joan put out her hand 
to steady him. 4 4 That was rather silly of me. 
It ’s all right when I do B and H, and those low 
things, but when I get to high up ones, like T 
and U, of course that ’s what happens. But a 
person can’t semaphore properly sitting down.” 

4 4 Let ’s try,” said Joan, pulling up two camp- 
chairs. 4 4 Why, I think it ’s quite as easy. Now 
please show me the letters from A to G again, 
so that I ’ll be able to learn those first.” 

By the time the P ettasantuck neared Salt 
Rock Landing, an hour and a half later, Joan 
had mastered enough of the code to send very 
simple messages to Garth, who sat the width of 
the deck away. He had taken off his hat, be- 
cause he could not signal and hold it at the same 
time, and he sat on the edge of it to keep it from 
blowing away. Sometimes Joan was a little 


THE SUMMONS 


145 


bothered by the spelling of the messages he 
sent her, but on the whole she understood them 
very well, with only occasional promptings. 

A number of people were now on deck, for the 
most part guests of the Harbor View House, 
who had been trying to carry on an interrupted 
night's rest by huddling themselves into the 
stiff, plush-covered chairs in the cabin. These 
passengers seemed to be much edified by the 
signaling, and several of them were gazing at 
Joan and Garth, who remained unconscious of 
the sensation they were creating. Garth, his 
hair rumpled and his eyes shining, was sending 
quite a hard sentence, with wildly waving arms. 
Joan, wearing a perfectly unintentional scowl, 
was trying to put down the letters on the back 
of an old envelop. “ Dousuposeucoldundee- 
standabatleshipnow V’ It took her some time 
to decode this into, “Do you suppose you could 
understand a battleship now?" and when she 
looked up, to answer with a very emphatic 
“No!” she found fixed on her the glassily 
amazed eyes of a prim elderly lady. 

“I suppose we did look rather as though we 
were crazy," said Joan, as she pulled her camp- 
stool up beside Garth's, “if people did n’t know 
what we were doing." 


146 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“That ’s the worst of people,” Garth said; 
“they stare at you whatever you do. I don’t 
see why signaling isn’t perfickly all right. 
That ’s one reason why you ’re so nice, Joan; 
you like to do any sort of thing at all.” 

Joan smiled a little. She wondered to her- 
self if, a few weeks ago, she would have sat 
upon the deck of a steamer waving her arms at 
a hatless child, whether any one was looking 
on or not. 

“We ’re almost in, anyhow,” she said; “we 
could n ’t have done it much longer. ’ ’ 

“Oh, look there, Joan!” cried Garth. 
“There ’s another lighthouse! It ’s not nearly 
as nice as ours.” 

It was not; for it consisted of a hideous man- 
sard-roofed house, painted red and perched 
upon a heap of raw, stone blocks, the light-tower 
sprouting from the middle of the roof like some 
strange fungus very much out of place. 

“I do believe there ’s a cat sitting on the 
step !” said Joan. “I wonder how he likes liv- 
ing in the middle of the bay.” 

“Cap’n Brewer, that kept our Light before 
we did,” said Garth, “used to have hens. 
Cap’n ’Bijah says that they could swim just like 
ducks. He saw them often, he says, but I don’t 


THE SUMMONS 147 

believe they could! Let ’s wave to the little 
girl, Joan.” 

So they waved their hands to the barefooted 
child who stood at the door of the lighthouse. 
A woman in a calico dress ran out to the steps 
and looked after the Pettasantuck, shading her 
eyes. 

“Oh,” said Joan, “I ’d much, much rather 
live in ours. It ’s the most wonderful place in 
the world.” • 

The “ours” was quite unconscious. 

The boat arrived a few minutes later at Salt 
Rock Landing, a doleful place, with no scenery 
more interesting than a baggage-shed and a 
heap of coal. Here a shuttle-train waited to 
carry the passengers from the steamer to 
Tewksville Junction, where the train on the 
main tracks went through. This train was on 
-a different line from the one by which Joan 
had arrived; it stopped at a new assortment 
of small stations. Somewhat to Joan’s sur- 
prise, she found herself much interested in the 
frequent halts which had so annoyed her be- 
fore. This was because she and Garth guessed, 
between each station, how long it would be be- 
fore the train reached the next one. Joan 


148 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


timed it by her wrist-watch, and it was most ex- 
citing to see who had guessed the nearest. It 
was just as difficult to understand the names of 
the places as it was to gauge the distance be- 
tween them. 

“Nextation is Wussomv! Wussomv!” 
shouted the brakeman, as the door slammed. 

* 4 What a name!” said Joan. “I think that 
we 11 reach Wussoniv in fourteen minutes/ ’ 

“I think it ’ll be ten minutes,” Garth cried. 

They came to the station — which turned out 
to be West Olneysville — in eleven minutes and 
forty-two seconds by Joan’s watch, and Garth 
won. After that the train turned itself sud- 
denly into an express and dashed past all the 
little towns with a fine disdain, trying in breath- 
less haste to make up for the time it had been 
wasting. It thundered finally under the echo- 
ing arches of the terminal, and Joan and Garth 
stepped out upon the platform into dim re- 
sounding spaces. Dozens of locomotives 
snorted and hissed, sending up jets of white 
steam into the great, smoke-hung dome. The 
dank, imprisoned atmosphere was slightly 
chilly, although hot sunshine poured down out- 
side. 

Garth was a good deal excited as he and Joan 


THE SUMMONS 


149 


entered the waiting-room, where a great many 
people dashed in different directions for trains 
and hurrying porters staggered under loads of 
bags. Joan left him to wait for her while she 
very thoughtfully purchased return tickets. 
She noticed that almost every one had been 
looking rather hard at Garth, and fancied that 
it might be on account of the crutches. But 
as she returned to him, it struck her that it was 
for quite a different reason. He was sitting 
quietly, with his hands clasped, and he did not 
see her. On one side of him sat a hot woman 
with two restless children, who were standing 
on the bench, kicking the back of the seat. On 
the other side was a thin-featured young girl 
absurdly muffled in summer furs. She held a 
bag on her knees and sat gazing blankly before 
her with a listless, indifferent stare. Garth, it 
seemed to Joan, looked rather as though he had 
dropped from another planet. There was a 
curious sort of splendid simplicity about him, 
his sun-browned face full of a quiet eagerness, 
his clear, sea-gray eyes absolutely untroubled. 
Joan thought him a good deal like the salt wind 
that had blown in at her window from the 
great wide places that first night at Silver 
Shoal. 


150 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

“He makes everybody else look so — so 
miissy, somehow/ ' she reflected. 

A very crowded street-car proved to be the 
next step in the journey towards Dr. Stone's 
office. It was a pay-as-you-enter car, but Joan, 
having entered, found herself unable to pay at 
the same moment. She stood swaying to and 
fro, clutching Garth with one hand and strug- 
gling madly to unfasten her pocket-book with 
the other. Even when a pocket-book is open, 
it is a difficult feat to hold it and abstract a 
coin from its depths at the same time, with only 
one hand. Joan found this out; she also dis- 
covered that she had no smaller change than a 
two dollar bill. The conducter grew irate; the 
people who crowded the vestibule behind her 
were more so. 

“Town is barbaric! Why in the world does 
any one choose to live in it?" muttered Joan, 
vowing mentally that they would return in a 
taxicab. 

Garth sat on Joan's lap in the car; there was 
no other place for him to sit. He was much 
interested in the shops and the crowds of people 
and motors outside the car; he did not seem to 
be hot at all. Perhaps one of the reasons why 
Joan felt so extremely warm was because she 


THE SUMMONS 151 

held not only Garth, but also his coat and her 
own. Peanut shells littered the floor of the car 
beneath her feet, and the girl next her chewed 
gnm energetically. Joan fixed her eyes reso- 
lutely on the cool curve of Garth's cheek and 
tried to fancy that the roar of the car, as it 
pounded along, was the sound of surf on the 
Reef. 

When they left the trolley-car the travelers 
found that they had time to walk down the street 
for a little while before their appointment. It 
was very crowded and dusty and exceedingly 
hot. The sun blazed down mercilessly, and 
the sidewalks sent back waves of heat. Men 
sprawled on the park-benches opposite, with 
handkerchiefs tucked into their collars, and 
ragged children splashed under the streams of 
a fountain, with a rapturous disregard for such 
clothes as they had on. Two hand-organs were 
vying with each ether as to which could play 
“La Marseillaise" the louder, and as they 
played in quite different keys, the effect was de- 
pressing. 

Garth looked in at the shop-windows and 
asked Joan a great many questions. He 
beamed affably at the sailors who passed them 
occasionally, and one young naval officer was so 


152 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


struck by the quality of the smile he received 
that he saluted — to Garth’s huge delight. Just 
as they went by the office of a great transatlan- 
tic steamship company, Garth turned back sud- 
denly and slipped from Joan’s side. She fol- 
lowed him, wondering what could be of interest 
there, and found him gazing raptly in at the 
window. 

Beneath two placards marked “Then” and 
“Now” stood two complete and beautiful mod- 
els, one of a full-rigged sailing vessel, the other 
of a great modem liner. It was at the full- 
rigged ship that Garth gazed, discovering first 
one detail and then another of the perfectly exe- 
cuted model, pointing them out joyously to 
Joan. 

“Oh, look!” he cried. “Look at the pennant 
on her truck, and the reef in her main-course, 
and even the little ports open, — and — and every- 
th! ng!” He lapsed into silence, and Joan real- 
ized that the clanging street, and the dust, and 
the hot stifling smell of the city touched him not 
at all; that he was far away, standing in fancy 
on the decks of that little ship. It was with a 
very gentle hand that she finally drew him away 
from the window. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE PEACOCK FEATHER 

T HE elevator-man in the office building re- 
membered Garth and grinned delightedly. 
Joan had thought him a dismal-looking person 
when they came in, but the smile greatly 
changed his tired, uninteresting face. 

“Still livin’ on the lighthouse?” he inquired 
genially. “Wisht I could!” He clanged the 
elevator door open. “Always does me good, 
seem’ that feller,” he remarked to Joan; “wisht 
he came oftener.” 

They were five minutes late, but there was no 
sign of Dr. Stone. 

“You always have to wait ages,” said Garth; 
“so we might as well do something. Let ’s play 
The Miraculous Memory-Stretcher.” 

“May I ask what that is?” Joan said. 

“That ’s what Fogger calls it. You show a 
person a picture in a magazine or something 
for about two flashes, and then snatch it away 
again, and they have to say all the things that 

153 


154 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

were in it. It ’s awfully hard. You ’ d be sur- 
prised.” 

He brought a magazine from the table, ex- 
hibited an illustration to Joan for perhaps ten 
seconds, and whisked it away, leaving her gasp- 
ing. 

“Why,” she said, “there — there were two 
men and a cat, standing in front of a house.” 

On looking again at the picture, it was found 
that the cat was a dog, and that Joan had en- 
tirely neglected to mention a woman leaning in 
the doorway of the house and two horses 
hitched to a picket-fence beneath a tree. Garth 
was overjoyed and thrust the magazine into her 
hands. 

“Now let me try one! But prob’ly I ’ll do 
just as badly, so never mind, Joan.” 

As a matter of fact, he succeeded much better 
than she, because he had often played the game 
before. Joan grew quite excited, and they 
passed the magazine back and forth in great 
glee, their memories stretching wonderfully at 
every attempt. 

In the doctor’s private room a frightened 
child whimpered, and Garth frowned a little. 
The door of the inner office opened presently 
and a woman came out, holding a little boy in 


THE PEACOCK FEATHER 155 


her arms. He was a thin, twisted child, with 
a white face and unhappy eyes. He clung mis- 
erably to the woman, staring at Garth over her 
shoulder. Garth looked after them as they 
passed through the outer door. 

“I ’m sorry about that little boy, Joan,” he 
said, as he pulled himself to his feet. 

“Well, Mister Pemberley,” said the doctor, 
“how much more tan are you going to get? I 
wish I could send all my patients off to light- 
houses! Now suppose you let Miss Robinson 
roll up a yard or two of those trousers and let ’s 
look at things.” 

He laid Garth down on a very hard, high table 
and proceeded to stretch him and poke him. 
He tickled Garth in unexpected places and made 
him laugh. 

“Been sailing a lot, I suppose,” said Dr. 
Stone, working vigorously, “and swimming, and 
all that. Not so cold out there now as when 
you were up here before, eh? Now suppose 
you try a little walking for me. I ’ll catch 
you.” 

Garth took exactly four steps, and collapsed 
into the doctor’s arms. 

“Better than last time, eh?” said Dr. Stone. 


156 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Now stand up there and let me look at you, — 
and those shoulders straight , please !” 

While the nurse was helping Garth on with 
his shoes, Joan spoke with the specialist. 

“What do you think about him?” she asked. 

“Well,” said the doctor, pulling his beard, 
“it ’s this way. I can’t do much for him; I 
simply want to keep an eye on him and see that 
he has the right sort of appliance for that leg. 
But, my dear young lady,” — the doctor was 
very earnest, — “his mind is full of everything 
on earth except himself, and he ’s been living 
under absolutely ideal conditions for four 
years. That ’s done more than I could do. I 
wish you could have seen him when his family 
went away from here; I never thought he ’d 
stand on his feet. Did you happen to notice 
that child that just left the office?” 

“Yes, I did,” said Joan. 

“My dear young lady,” said Dr. Stone, “that 
was a well child, compared to what Garth Pem- 
berley was. He ’s done far more himself than 
I could do for him, he and that father and 
mother of his!” The doctor nodded his head 
gravely. “That ’s an extraordinary family,” 
he said. “Well, good-bye! Good-bye, Mister 
Pemberley ! Keep it up ! ” 


THE PEACOCK FEATHER 157 


“If I don’t have something to eat pretty 
soon,” said Garth, as they went down in the 
elevator, “I ’m afraid I ’ll die, or something.” 

“I was just thinking that very thing,” said 
Joan. “We ate that omelet weeks ago, it seems 
to me. We ’d better have lunch right away, 
because we We not any too much time before our 
train leaves.” 

They went to a tea-room called ‘ ‘ The Peacock 
Feather,” and Garth was enthusiastic. 

“Mudder and I mostly used to go to that 
dairy-place opposite the doctor’s, because we 
hadn’t much time,” he told Joan, as they stood 
waiting for a table. “This is much nicer! It 
looks a good deal like something in a fairy- 
tale.” 

They secured seats presently, and Joan or- 
dered a lunch which she thought might be ready 
in a reasonably short time. Garth looked about 
the place with delight. It was a low-ceiled 
room, with quaint windows and peacock blue 
hangings draped against oak panels. The craft 
furniture was odd in design, and its picturesque 
shape had some disadvantages ; for when a boy 
and his mother came to share the small table 
with Joan and Garth, they were all rather 
crowded. The boy was three or four years 


158 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


older than Garth and wore the initials of a big 
school on his cap. 

“Say, Mother,” he said, when she had fin- 
ished looking over the menu, “I wish yon ’ d let 
me go to Kewonset Camp this year. Nearly all 
the fellows have gone. It ’s no fun out at Aunt 
Maud’s. And oh, Mother! Billy Stenway’s 
father gave him a boat, — a real one, I mean, — 
and he wants me to come down to their place 
and go sailing. ’ ’ 

‘ 4 Hoes Billy know how to sail?” asked the 
mother. 

“I don’t believe so yet. He ’s going to, 
though ; his uncle is going to teach him. I don ’t 
even know what kind of a boat it is. I think 
it has two sails, though.” 

“She might be a sloop,” said Garth suddenly. 

The boy and his mother looked across the 
table in amazement. The boy frankly stared. 

“What do you know about it, kid?” he said. 

“But of course she might be a cat-yawl,” said 
Garth, “only I don’t believe so. How big is 
she?” 

“Oh, about sixteen feet long, I guess,” said 
the boy, fairly surprised into answering. 

“Has she a center-board, or a keel?” asked 
Garth. 


THE PEACOCK FEATHER 159 


“I don’t know,” said the boy; “I don’t know 
which is which.” 

“You know, the center-board ’s the thing that 
sticks down at the bottom of the boat,” said 
Garth, neglecting his luncheon, “to keep her 
from sliding, so that she can sail on the wind, 
and everything. It ’s like a keel, only you can 
haul it up by a rope when you get in among the 
rocks or somewhere. You know!” 

“Well, I do now,” said the boy, “but I don’t 
know whether Bill’s boat has one or not. It — 
she has one big sail, and then a little one in 
front.” 

“She must be a knockabout,” said Garth, 
hastily consuming a little bread and butter. 
‘ ‘ She ’ll prob ’ly go like everything ; those little 
ones can. And they don’t yaw much when 
you ’re running before the wind, the way a cat- 
boat does.” 

“Say!” said the boy, “I wish I knew enough 
to tell Billy all that ! Where ’d you get on to 
it all?” 

“I live in a lighthouse,” said Garth, putting 
down his cup, “and we sail every day.” 

The boy and his mother looked at each other. 

“Do you mean that, kid,— that you live in a 
lighthouse?” 


160 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Of course I do,” said Garth. “I ’ve lived 
there always/ ’ 

The boy looked suddenly rather wistful. 

“It must be bully/ ’ he said. “I wish we 
lived somewhere interesting, Mother/ ’ 

The luncheon was ended, and Joan reached 
for Garth’s hat and the crutches. The boy 
looked even more dumfounded than before as 
Garth got out of his chair with some trouble. 
He opened his mouth to say something, but, 
catching his mother’s eye, stopped short. 

“Good-bye!” said Garth over his shoulder. 
“I hope you ’ll have fun in the boat; she must 
be a nice one ! ’ ’ 

Joan wished very much that she could hear 
what the boy and his mother said when they 
had gone. 

What with the early start, the excitement of 
traveling, and the vigorous treatment of the 
doctor, Garth was beginning to be very tired. 
He said little as he sat with his head against 
Joan’s shoulder, looking out at the window. 
The train by which they were returning was an 
express and stopped only once or twice on its 
way to Tewksville Junction. It flashed, shriek- 
ing, through shabby towns, through thin, 


THE PEACOCK FEATHER 161 


burned-over woodland, past half-mown fields 
where men were haying. Then presently the 
dry, rough sod of wild pastures gave way to the 
rippling orange grass of salt marshes, and on 
the skyline there gleamed one sudden flash of 
blue. 

Garth raised his head and drew a deep 
breath. 

“Did you see it, Joan?” he said. “A little 
scrap of the bay!” 

Though the sunshine had been burningly 
bright in town all day, a high fog still hung at 
the mouth of the bay, veiling the open sea. The 
Pettasantuck lifted up her deep voice majes- 
tically at intervals as she steamed toward the 
misty ocean. 

“To think that it ’s the very same fog!” said 
Joan. “Oh, how many years ago it was that 
we sailed out of it ! ” 

The hot, inland atmosphere gradually faded; 
the waves under the bow of the steamer grew 
more choppy. Joan and Garth put on their 
coats and stood at the rail in silence. Through 
the haze a line of opaque gray marked the shore, 
dimly dappled with green and russet. The 
Pettasantuck blew a mighty blast and rounded 
the point into Quimpaug Harbor. 


162 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Listen, oh, listen, Joan!” ssfld Garth sud- 
denly. 

Far off and faint, yet clear above the throb 
and creak of the boat, there came a sound, — a 
melancholy note, sad, remote, beautiful. 

“It ’s our bell,” whispered Garth. “Our 
own fog-bell!” 

The next moment he had hung himself half- 
way over the rail, to the alarm of several by- 
standers. 

“There ’s the Ailouros /” he shouted. 

“Where? Which one?” said Joan, pulling 
him back by his sailor collar. 

“Just coming in!” he cried. “Oh, you must 
know her, J oan. Don’t you see the green stripe 
around her and the little patch in her sail?” 

“Of course I do now,” Joan said; “and I can 
see your father, too.” 

It seemed as though the Pettasantuck would 
never have done with backing and warping, so 
long did she take to make her landing. The 
Ailouros came in and lay beside the pier. 
Jim stood up in front of the sail and sent a long 
semaphore message, which neither Joan nor 
Garth understood. He was at the gangplank 
when they finally came ashore, and he held 
Garth very tightly. 


THE PEACOCK FEATHER 163 


“You ’re twenty minutes late,” he informed 
them, as he cast off from the landing, “but I 
didn’t start until I heard you coming. The 
Pettasantuck has a voice like the very prince — 
or princess — of all sea-monsters. We heard her 
whoop before she passed Barclay Neck.” 

“How ’s Mudder?” Garth asked. 

“Oh, she ’s a good deal better now,” said 
Jim, “but we ’ve both been very lonely and sad. 
I like to have you sit so close beside me, old 
man,” he added, “but I ’m afraid the tiller will 
hit you on the nose.” 

Faintly, through the mist, Silver Shoal Light 
took form and grew more and more clear — the 
line of foam about the rock, the Cymba slowly 
circling her moorings, the green shutters 
against the white-walled house, the bright 
splash of color that marked the geraniums in 
the “informal garden.” Some one in a blue 
dress came to the open door and stood looking 
out. Garth gave an exultant shout, and his fa- 
ther seized him by the sleeve of his coat. 

“Wait! Wait a bit!” said Jim. “Never 
try to get out of a boat until she ’s less than 
fifty feet away from shore. Do you think you 
can sit still while I come in, or shall I have to 
lash you to the mast with the peak halyard?” 


164 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Elspeth ran down to the end of the pier, and 
an instant after the boat had slid np, Garth was 
in his mother’s arms. Jim leaped ont with the 
painter in his hand, and stood bending over her, 
Garth’s arms flung about them both and the 
three heads very close together. Joan, stand- 
ing behind them on the pier, looked on with a 
wistful little smile. 

“We had lots of fun,” Garth said, as they 
went up to the lighthouse. “Joan was so good. 
We went to such a wonderful place for lunch, 
and we rode in a taxicab, and everything ! And, 
Fogger! There was such a beautiful ship in a 
shop-window, — only little, you know, — and there 
were hundreds of other things.” 

“You ’d rather live in town all the time, I 
dare say,” Elspeth suggested. 

“ Mudder !” said Garth, in reproach. “Oh, 
if you knew how nice it was to hear the old fog 
bell, when we came in!” 

“How about you, Joan?” asked Elspeth, with 
a mischievous flash in her eyes. 

Joan scorned to answer. She merely gave 
Elspeth one look, which she hoped would settle 
the question definitely. 


CHAPTER XV 


STOKM-BOUND 


E ’RE in f or it ! ’ ’ Jim cried, as he dashed 



vv through the living-room in dripping oil- 
skins. He shed slicker and sou’wester in the 
passage, and returned to sit down at the break- 
fast-table. 

“I hope you don’t mind the rubber-boots,” 
he said to Joan, who passed him the toast; “I 
shall have to go out again immediately after 
breakfast, and it ’s such a bore to climb in and 
out of the things.” 

“Are we going to have bad weather?” she 
asked. 

“Fairly stiff for a summer storm, I imag- 
ine,” he answered. “I ’ll haul the little boats 
out, Elspeth, and I think I ’ll moor the Ailouros 
closer in, so that she ’ll get the lee of the rock. 
It ’s a good thing you went to town when you 
did, Miss Kirkland, before this came up. Hi! 
Hear it rain!” 

A sudden torrent drove across the window- 


165 


166 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


panes and lashed the face of the rising sea. 
The wind boomed suddenly into the corner 
where the tower joined the house ; a door rattled 
sharply. Jim sprang to close a window. 

‘ ‘ What about the informal garden?” Elspeth 
demanded. 

‘ ‘ I don ’t think anything will come over, — not 
yet, certainly,” Jim replied, “but Caleb and I 
will put the boxes in the boat-house, if you ’d 
rather. ’ 9 

“Do you mean to say that the water dashes 
up as far as the garden?” Joan exclaimed. 

‘ ‘ Goodness ! ’ ’ Garth said. “You ought to see 
it in winter. Why, the seas come sloshing right 
up over the whole rock sometimes. Don’t they, 
Fogger?” 

“I should think so!” Jim assented. 
“Enough to be quite exciting at times. It gives 
you a tiny taste of what it would be like to live 
in a real lighthouse, like Eddystone or Minot’s 
Ledge. Well, you ’ll have to fetch out your 
knitting to-day and rejoice in having a roof over 
your heads.” 

Jim went out to his boats, and came back with 
a wet face and glistening oilskins to report the 
wind rising and the seas gaining in size and 
force. He departed to his work, and while El- 


STORM-BOUND 


167 

speth finished odds and ends of housekeeping, 
J oan and Garth played the Miraculous Memory 
Stretcher. They had just finished a most hilari- 
ous bout, when Elspeth came downstairs with a 
large book in her hands. 

“I ’m going to inflict this upon you,” she 
said, as she sat down beside Joan on the settle, 
“ just like an old country wife with her ‘fambly 
photygraph album.’ But they ’re not 'cabinet 
portraits ’ ; they ’re principally snapshots of 
Garth, so I thought you wouldn’t mind.” 

"Why didn’t you show it to me long ago?” 
J oan chided. "You knew I should love it. ’ ’ 

"These at first are just of Jim and me, ages 
ago,” Elspeth said, flapping over the pages; 
"not so interesting. Here ’s Garth — the first 
picture of him — aged three weeks. ’ ’ 

"Did I really look so queer?” Garth de- 
manded, leaning over his mother’s shoulder. 
"I don’t see why you liked me, I must say!” 

"I did / 7 Elspeth said. "You were ever so 
nice. He was older here, Joan; these are up to 
the time he was a year old. Don’t you think he 
had an engaging smile?” 

J oan did think so ; she was very much inter- 
ested. 

"It ’s so hard to think of you as living any- 


168 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


where but at the Light,” she exclaimed, 4 ‘and of 
his being so little! Where were these taken?” 

“In Boston, all of them,” Elspeth replied. 
“See the Washington statue in the Public Gar- 
dens looming up behind those of Garth in the 
pram? How silly I look ! That was when peo- 
ple wore those idiotic skirts.” 

There was a picture of Jim, — younger, and 
rather too thin, — holding Garth on his knees, 
the baby waving a toy duck joyously in his fa- 
ther^ face. And one of Elspeth sitting on the 
floor constructing a block-house for the enter- 
tainment of her son, who, from his attitude, 
seemed about to demolish the whole thing. 

“He did,” Elspeth affirmed. “In fact, that 
appeared to be his idea of the whole purpose of 
a block-house — to be pushed down. It always 
went with a crash, and he said ‘Gang!’ and 
shouted with glee. Here ’s where he was just 
beginning to walk. He really was nice, was n’t 
he ! His hair was pale gold, Joan. Would you 
ever guess it?” She rumpled up her son’s 
bronze curls, and he ducked, laughing, out of 
her reach. 

So many happy pictures, page after page! 
Elspeth, turning a leaf eagerly, said : 

“Oh, this is very nice! It ’s enlarged from 


STORM-BOUND 169 

a tiny one that I took on Mount Vernon Street 
one windy spring morning.’ ’ 

He was galloping sturdily toward the camera, 
a joyous baby, with flying hair and outflung 
arms, his hat perilously far on the back of his 
head and his little white smock fluttering out 
behind him. 

“He was two and a half,” Elspeth said. “It 
was just before he was sick.” 

“If you Ve a duplicate of that, by any 
chance,” said Joan, after a time of gazing at 
the picture, “I want it, please.” 

“Then there ’s a break,” Elspeth explained, 
“when we weren’t taking pictures; then there 
are a few the winter before we came out here. 
This is one that was taken in Jim’s study. 
Garth was lying on the couch, looking at pic- 
ture-books. You see, he couldn’t hold the book 
himself, so Jim ’s holding it with one hand and 
correcting proof with the other. Hello ! Here 
we are on the steamer — the same dear old Pet - 
tasantuck — going down to Quimpaug. Garth ’s 
lying on a seat with some pillows, and Jim ’s 
pointing out a boat, probably.” 

“And here ’s home!” Garth cried. 

“Yes,” Elspeth said; “the first picture of it. 
That was the old landing that went out in a big 


170 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


storm; and you see there was no informal gar- 
den then, and no Ailouros. Here are Jim and 
Garth lying on the landing, as I told you they 
did.” 

“ Those were nice stories,” Garth reflected. 
“I can remember little bits of some of them. 
And the boards on the pier were all white and 
hot.” 

“And both of you began to get tanned,” El- 
speth broke in; “you looked rather queer with 
a tan then, because you were so thin and all. 
These are the next spring, Joan, when he was 
four and a half. He was beginning to walk 
again; he had a way of falling down at the 
wrong time in those days.” She turned to 
Garth suddenly. “What made me think of it? 
That picture of you taking your nap, I suppose. 
Do you remember ‘The Lullaby of the Little 
Ship’?” 

“Of course I do!” Garth cried. “Why, you 
haven’t sung that for years and years and 
years! Oh, sing it now, Mudder; I ’d forgot- 
ten all about it.” 

“It was a little one that Jim made,” Elspeth 
explained, “and Garth never went to sleep with- 
out it. He used to take such a long time to go 
to sleep ; so I sang to him. I wonder if I can 


STORM-BOUND 171 

remember the queer little tune.” She thought 
for a moment, and then sang : 

Little ship that sails the sea, 

(Lull la lo!) 

I have lit a lamp for thee, 

(Lull la lo!) 

A starry, silver, twilight spark, 

A patient night-light in the dark, 

For little ships that frighted be. 

(Lull la lo!) 

Little ship, now furl thy sail ; 

(Lull la lo!) 

Thou shalt never fear the gale. 

(Lull la lo!) 

The old sea croons a cradle-song, 

And Silver Shoal, the whole night long, 
Watches till the dawn is pale. 

(Lull la lo!) 

“I loved it,” said Garth; “1 do love it now. 
Why did we forget about it?” 

“And why don’t you sing always?” Joan de- 
manded. “I never knew you did.” 

“I don’t,” Elspeth protested. “That ’s the 
one song I know, and I used to sing that only 
because my baby wanted me to.” She rose and 
went to the window. “We ’ve been so far in 
the past,” she said, “that I ’d forgotten about 
the storm. I see it is still with us.” 


172 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Rain dimmed the glass, but through it could 
be seen dull water buffeted by the wind. Gusts 
shrieked around the staunch walls, and now and 
then a swirl of salt spray dashed against the 
seaward windows. 

“I ’m very glad,” Joan remarked, “that 
I ’m not sitting on a rock where there is no 
house ! ’ ’ 

All afternoon the wind howled and boomed 
around the lighthouse. Though the rain had 
stopped, the seas grew larger and ran half over 
the rock. The landing was drenched, its sun- 
bleached timber now dark and glistening. The 
Ailouros still rode secure at her moorings, 
though she leaped and pulled at her cables, 
twisting into the wind, her mast swinging in 
erratic circles against the gray sky. 

“What sort of eerie kinship have you with 
the elements, Jim?” Elspeth inquired as her 
husband entered, dripping, for the third time 
since luncheon. “Can’t you keep out of the 
weather? I ’m sure you don’t need to splash 
around out there all the time.” 

Jim slipped off his oilskins once more. 

“I ’ve finished — really,” he said; “but I do 
like to mess about in it.” 

He lit his pipe and seated himself on the edge 


STORM-BOUND 173 

of the table, which was strewn with papers and 
presided over by Garth, pencil in hand. 

“At it again ?” Jim inquired. “Sail or 
steam? I suppose that ’s an unnecessary ques- 
tion, however.” 

He dragged a chair suddenly across the room 
and sat down beside his son. 

“Now they ’ll be perfectly happy for the rest 
of the day,” Elspeth confided to Joan, who had 
put down her book to watch the pair. 

“What is it?” she asked. 

“Designing boats,” Elspeth said. “It ’s apt 
to languish a bit during open weather, when 
they can sail and be out, but in winter they do 
nothing else.” 

Joan looked on with a keener interest. This 
phase of Garth’s enthusiasm for the sea had 
not yet been shown her. 

“Perhaps,” she mused softly, “later on he ’ll 
find his work in building ships for others to 
command.” 

“That,” said Elspeth, “is what I hope.” 

They were silent, for the conversation at the 
table had become earnest and interesting. Jim 
was inspecting a paper contemplatively. 

“What ’s this?” he demanded. “This 
would n ’t float, man ! What is it ? ” 


174 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“A thirty-five foot sloop,” Garth explained 
modestly. 

“A thirty-five foot wash-tub !” Jim corrected 
mildly. 4 ‘ Look here, old man, if that ’s your 
base-line, will you kindly tell me what the draft 
of the beast is?” 

“Five feet,” Garth proposed. 

“Not to the base-line, surely!” Jim objected 
in horror. “Oh, well, I see; that ’s better. 
But in that case there seems to be something 
very strange about the proportion. Here, let ’s 
have the pencil a second.” 

It changed hands, and the two heads bent over 
the paper very close together. The pencil 
stayed in Jim’s possession for much longer than 
a second, and the only remarks which reached 
Joan and Elspeth were of a very technical na- 
ture. Jim’s pipe, which he had laid down upon 
the table, went out peacefully. 

“There!” said Jim presently. “We ’ve 
saved all her good points and added a few. 
She ’ll sail now and hold her own. Did you try 
her sail-plan?” 

“I got mixed up,” the designer confessed, 
“but I made her cabin-plan.” 

Jim relighted his pipe and contemplated the 
cabin-plan. 


STORM-BOUND 


175 


“Very tidy,” he commented; “but how does 
the owner get into his stateroom? Through 
the galley? Oh, come ; that won’t do ! This lit- 
tle shelf is exceedingly nifty,” he added, after 
further inspection, “but, Pern, have you figured 
the head-room in that particular spot?” Jim 
did a little quick calculation on the edge of the 
paper. “I ’m afraid he ’d get a most horrible 
whack on the head from it every time he came 
in at the door, unless” — Jim shot a twinkling 
glance at his son — “the owner happened to 
be you. In which case there ’d be head-room 
and to spare. But 1 ’d not dare to come 
aboard!” 

He stopped suddenly and, taking his pipe 
from between his lips, stared at a sheet which 
the cabin-plan had uncovered. 

“What do I see?” he murmured in a mysti- 
fied voice. 

Garth grew suddenly rather red. 

“You were n’t meant to look at that,” he said 
hastily. “I expect it ’s awful. But — could you 
guess what it is?” 

He looked up at his father with a great long- 
ing, and Joan, watching his face, hoped that 
Jim would guess right. 

“A square-rigged ship,” Jim said presently; 


176 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

“a four-masted barque ?” Garth nodded vig- 
orously. 

“Is it dreadfully bad?” he asked. 

Jim encircled him, dreamer and designer, 
with a kind arm. 

“I ’m afraid she couldn’t be built from this, 
exactly,” he said, “but you ’ve the idea. Good 
lines. Did you do it according to rule?” 
Garth shook his head. 

“No; I sort of thought her,” he said. 

“That ’s naughty,” Jim said. “You ought 
to stick to thirty-footers.” He smoked 
thoughtfully for a moment; then said: 

“No; I ’m wrong. ‘ Thinking’ ships is some- 
thing which I can ’t teach you and which is much 
better than rule. ’ ’ 

“I gave up some of the sails,” Garth said. 
“I got lost when I came to the jibs and stays ’Is 
and the jigger.” 

“Let ’s put ’em in now,” Jim suggested. 
“No; you do it,” as Garth offered him the pen- 
cil, “and I ’ll tell you which and where.” 

They bent again over the table, until the 
early, storm-burdened dusk fell about them so 
thickly that Elspeth’s warnings about eye-strain 
were at last heeded and they straightened the 
papers and leaned back. Jim gathered his son 


STORM-BOUND 


177 


into his arm once more, and there fell about 
them, it seemed to Joan, the perfect, silent un- 
derstanding which always existed between the 
two. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE WRECK OF THE THOMAS J. 

“ T THINK that a fire would be a nice thing,” 
X Elspeth suggested. “ Somehow, a good 
blaze always makes me feel as though I were de- 
feating the wind and rain. They howl all the 
louder, out of very rage and jealousy.” 

Jim fetched in an armful of the Thomas J. 
Haskell and built a fire. 

“It 's a nice combination,” Elspeth said; 
“whistling wind and crackling logs.” 

“Storm Motive from the Silver Shoal Sym- 
phony,” murmured Jim, fanning the young 
flames ; “shrieking wind, in the strings ; counter- 
point of snapping fire, in the percussion and 
woodwind; perpetual undertone of the sea 
worked out by the double-basses.” 

“I ’m glad that I Ve seen a real storm here,” 
Joan said. “Now I can imagine what it ’s like 
in winter.” 

“But this is n't a real storm at all,” laughed 
Jim. “Why, it ’s a mere puff of the bellows 
178 


THE WRECK OF THE THOMAS J. 179 


compared to a time like — well, the night the 
Thomas J. went on the Reef.” 

“I know what you can do, Fogger!” Garth 
announced. “You can be on the settle, and 
I ’ll sit on your lap, and you can tell Joan about 
the wreck of the Thomas J. Make it a real 
story, like the one about Rangor Head. ’ ’ 

“I ’m afraid I couldn’t do that,” Jim said. 
“I ’m not such a gallant young lad as Roger, 
nor is this such a weird place as Radulgo. I 
can tell only what really happened. ’ ’ 

“Please do!” Joan begged. “I ’ve often 
meant to ask you about the wreck. How jolly 
this is, with the firelight and all!” 

She sat down upon the floor and gazed at the 
leaping sparks and glowing embers, while El- 
speth took out her knitting and established her- 
self beside Jim on the settle. Garth decided 
that his father’s lap was not, after all, the most 
advantageous place. He brought the cushion 
from a chair and lay down, elbows upon it, be- 
side Joan, his chin in his hands and the colored 
driftwood flames shining into his eyes. The 
rosy glow of the fire flickered about the room 
and wavered upon the low, white ceiling, glint- 
ing here and there on burnished brass and the 
smooth polish of old wood. 


180 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Go ahead, Fogger,” Garth commanded; 
“and do please make it like a story.” 

“Well,” Jim said, “ ‘ ’T was the night before 
Christmas/ but, unlike the gentleman of that 
poem, the keeper of a certain light was not 
asleep. He was very wide awake, and so was 
his wife. His son slept, however, and knew 
nothing of the excitement until the next day.” 

“I always did think it wasn’t fair of you, 
not to wake me up,” Garth broke in. 

“Who said anything about you?” Jim de- 
manded. “This is a story. The lightkeeper ’s 
son was very small and not so hale and hearty 
as you are. It would have upset his Christmas, 
and he could n ’t have seen a thing, anyhow. As 
I was about to remark, it was the second day 
of a real storm. Half the lighthouse was 
sheathed in ice ; the landing groaned and broke 
under it. Great waves came surging across the 
rock, and spray smothered up against the heavy 
storm-windows. The wind was blowing a whole 
gale, and would have blown any one off the 
tower, if he ’d been foolish enough to go out on 
the gallery. The green water on the Reef 
leaped higher than the rocks, and white foam 
flew far above that. The night came down as 
black as a pitch caldron, and the sound of raging 


THE WRECK OF THE THOMAS J. 181 


wind and waves grew all the more fearsome by 
coming out of the darkness. The keeper’s man 
was away, spending Christmas ashore with his 
old mother, so that the keeper was single- 
handed. He went up to light his lamp, and in 
the lantern he felt the tower tremble and the 
iron stairs shudder under him. 

4 4 Before the keeper’s son went to bed, he hung 
his stocking at the chimney-place,” (Jim looked 
up at the mantel shelf, and so did Garth) “and 
there it was, blowing to and fro in the gusts 
that came whirling down the chimney and scat- 
tering the embers. He worried a great deal 
about the good Saint Nick’s being able to get 
to the Light in such very bad weather ; but his 
mother assured him that Santa Claus was quite 
used to the Arctic regions — storms, too, no 
doubt — and that, as he didn’t have to come in 
a boat, it really made no difference. So the 
keeper’s son went to sleep, much relieved. 

“Close on to midnight the keeper, who was 
on watch, made out two misty lights reeling 
through the darkness. They were the lights of 
a schooner. The master of the vessel told the 
keeper, later on, what happened aboard his ship, 
and I ’ll tell it to you. They saw the Light, it 
seems, and they likewise heard the breakers, but 


182 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

for the life of them they could n’t keep her off. 
The sheets were frozen hard and cut the men’s 
hands that hauled them, and the wind blew tit to 
sweep everything off the decks. They were get- 
ting heavier weather than the lighthouse, and 
the skipper feared every second that a mast 
would he carried away. As it was, half the 
taffrail went and all that was adrift on deck. 
The crew worked like madmen, with their 
i oilers’ frozen stiff and their faces stung raw. 

“The lightkeeper, peering out into the storm, 
saw the tossing masthead lights veer closer in- 
shore ; then flames sprang out aboard the vessel 
from a tar-barrel they ’d lit up as a signal of 
distress. Almost at once, from the Life-Saving 
Station two miles down the coast, a red light 
flared up. This meant: ‘We see you; we ’re 
coming!’ and a minute later a blue fire shone 
out on the beach. That said: ‘Don’t try to 
land in your own boats.’ 

“But the captain of the schooner told the 
keeper afterward that something had to be done, 
and done quick. Every sea pounded the 
Thomas J. further on to the Reef ; at any mo- 
ment her back might break and the crew would 
he left in a hideous position. So they waited 
for a ‘smooth’ when three big waves met and 


THE WRECK OF THE THOMAS J. 183 


passed, and they got oft somehow in a whale- 
boat. They thought every instant that they 
would certainly be hurled back against the 
schooner and smashed to bits. The lighthouse 
was much nearer than the Coast Guard Station, 
so for the light they pulled. They had a ship’s 
lantern in the bow, and the keeper could see it 
swinging across the dark. The crew of the 
schooner rowed like mad, and they were about 
fifty yards away from the vessel when she broke 
clean in two just abaft the beam. Her stern 
plunged one way and her bows the other. 
Meanwhile, the keeper was watching the lan- 
tern in the whaleboat. Sometimes he could see 
it, and sometimes it was hidden from him when 
the boat slid into the trough of a big sea. Then 
one time it did not emerge, and the keeper heard 
a five-fold shout carried down the wind. 

4 1 If this were a real story — the sort in a book, 
I mean — he would have reflected nobly that his 
duties included the rescuing of drowning mari- 
ners ; he would have gone up to gaze at his sleep- 
ing child before dashing into the night ; he would 
have wept to see the stocking hanging at the 
chimney-piece. But, not being a story-book 
person (I told you he wasn’t like Roger), he 
merely jumped into his oilers and out at the 


184 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

door in one bound, without even thinking of his 
wife and child. He wanted to get the men, so 
he got ’em.” 

Jim stopped, with an air of perfect finality, 
and puffed at his pipe serenely. 

“I knew he wouldn’t tell this story prop- 
erly!” cried Elspeth. 4 ‘ What ’s the use of be- 
ing a book-writing person, if you go and tele- 
scope your thrilling climax like that? 1 shall 
collaborate in this tale.” She waved a knit- 
ting-needle. “When this keeper jumped out at 
the door,” she related, “he was nearly blown 
down. His short oilskin coat filled with wind 
and behaved like a balloon-sail. The rock was 
covered with salt ice, blit the keeper wriggled 
to the landing, launched his dory, and slid into 
it. His wife, you may imagine, was feeling so 
happy! For, considering that the whaleboat 
had been swamped, the chances for the dory 
did n’t seem much greater. The seas were very 
big, but the boat slid up and down over them 
very neatly. The keeper’s big woollen mittens 
were soaked immediately ; then they froze, and 
his face froze, also. He shouted to the men in 
the water, and they shouted faintly in answer. 
He pulled steadily at his oars, and the dory did 
her best, till presently he came up with the men. 


THE WRECK OF THE THOMAS J. 185 


“Two of them had cork jackets, and the 
others were clinging to them, kicking and fight- 
ing to keep np in the icy water. The captain 
was holding to an oar, swimming feebly. The 
whaleboat had been carried away. Jim — the 
keeper, I should say — hauled the men aboard the 
dory, so stiff and chilled that they could hardly 
help themselves. He managed to keep his lan- 
tern alight and the boat right side up till they 
all were aboard. The least exhausted of the 
five men pulled the other pair of oars with the 
keeper, and two more bailed steadily, for the 
dory shipped water at every stroke. The boat 
staggered on nobly, plunging and shaking her- 
self free, and came in at last on the crest of a 
roller halfway up the rock. Perhaps I can 
trust Jim to go on now.” 

“Any one would suppose she ’d been there!” 
her husband remarked. ‘ ‘ Has n ’t she a graphic 
style ! Well, there ’s little more to narrate. 
The Coast Guard people came up the beach 
with their breeches-buoy apparatus after the 
schooner had broken in two. The crew of the 
Thomas J . would very likely have been at the 
bottom of the sea, if they ’d waited. Instead 
of that, they were shivering around the light- 
house stove, wrapped in all sorts of queer blan- 


186 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


kets and sweaters, and imbibing hot coffee and 
brandy and such. The keeper imbibed some, 
too. And the skipper saw that stocking hang- 
ing before the fireplace (Santa Clans had come, 
after all, and filled it, for it was bulging with 
toys and things). The captain stood up. 
He was wearing a long blanket, wrapped 
around him like a toga, and his face was blue. 

“ ‘Gosh, boys!’ said he. ‘Look at that!’ 
Then he held up his glass of brandy. ‘Merry 
Christmas, boys!’ he said, in a voice as hoarse 
as a fog-horn, ‘Merry Christmas !’ And that T s 
the only part of it that ’s really at all like a 
story-book.” 

Like a taut-stretched wire the wind sang 
around the tower; the hungry sea roared 
against the rock ; but on the glowing hearth the 
bones of the Thomas J. Haskell, schooner, 
blazed and crackled merrily. 


CHAPTER XVII 


SHIPS AND SIGNALS 

A FTER a hasty thump at the door, Garth 
flung himself in almost before Joan had 
time to answer. He came, breathless, to her 
side where she stood before the bureau. 

“Come, quick, Joan!” he cried, in much ex- 
citement. “What do you suppose? Some de- 
stroyers and their flagship have come in! No, 
you can’t see them from this window; they ’re 
in the Bay. I saw them from Mudder’s room. 
They ’re beginning to signal already. Oh, do 
come! Never mind your necktie! Help me 
downstairs, please.” 

Joan promptly seized upon him, and had 
reached the living-room before he could protest. 

“I didn’t mean that you ^vere to carry me,” 
he reproached her. “Get the glasses, please, — 
or the telescope would be better, — and the code- 
book, too. It ’s there beside them on the shelf. ’ 9 
Joan gathered up the outfit and followed 
Garth, who sat down upon the rocks. There 
were the destroyers without a doubt, — lean, 
187 


188 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


gray shapes lying stiffly outside the harbor, 
their sharp bows heading into the tide. Al- 
ready their busy little canvas-backed launches 
were flying to and fro like so many energetic 
water-beetles. 

‘ ‘Fogger says the flagship ’s prob’ly the 
Billing ton said Garth. “I’m glad she ’s an- 
chored nearest to us, because she ’ll run up most 
of the signals. Be all ready with the code-book, 
Joan, in case they do something suddenly.” 

Joan, not at all sure of what was expected of 
her, opened the book and adjusted the marine- 
glasses to the proper focus. All at once three 
brightly-colored flags floated up aboard the 
Billington, and simultaneously the telescope be- 
came fixed to Garth ’s eye. 

* ‘ Oh, I wish they would n ’t flap so ! ” he said. 
i ‘Wait a minute; I see it now! Dog — Cast — 
Have .” 

* ‘ Would you mind telling me what in the 
world you ’re talking about?” said Joan, gazing 
at him, transfixed. 

‘ ‘ Look in the code-book,” said Garth. 
“ Those are just names they have for the let- 
ters. If they did n’t, ones that sound the same, 
like B and T and C, might get mixed up when 
the men call out signals.” 


SHIPS AND SIGNALS 


189 


“Then you mean that Dog , Cast , Have stands 
for DCH and that DCH stands for a whole sen- 
tence ?” 

“Yes. Oh, do hurry! Never mind, though; 
they ’re just answering her with the same 
thing.” 

Joan searched through the fluttering pages, 
looking up and down the columns of signal-let- 
ters and their meanings. 

“DCF — DCG — Here it is! DCH: Dress. 
Officers and crews will , the same as yesterday. 
Why, it really does mean something!” laughed 
Joan triumphantly. 

“Of course it does,” said Garth. “That ’s 
the uniform order for the day.” 

“Oh, what fun! I supposed that no one but 
Admirals, and such people, really knew what the 
signals meant.”* 

“Anybody can,” Garth said. “Of course 
they don’t send war-messages that way, but they 
don’t care who knows about these ones.” 

“Oh, look!” Joan cried delightedly. “One 
of the others is doing something! Quick, 
Garth!” 

She snatched up the glasses, while he peered 
through the telescope. 

“Oh, what is it?” he cried. “Mike, on top.” 


190 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Then a perfectly criss-cross one, all black 
and red and yellow and bine !” said Joan. 

“That ’s Zed,” said Garth. “What ’s the 
bottom one? Oh, I see it now; it ’s Unit.” 

“MZU,” Joan cried, seizing the code again. 
“I have it! Require water for drinking and 
cooking . This is the most exciting thing I Ve 
ever done ! ’ ’ 

“There goes the Billington, answering her,” 
said Garth. “That ’s almost like the other 
one. Mike — Zed, and I think the bottom is 
Rush — a red square inside a white one, with a 
bine border, Joan.” 

“No, that *s Watch,” she told him, consult- 
ing the pictured flags in the book. ‘ 1 MZW : 
Will send you water. Oh, how nice ; they ’ll 
have their water, then!” 

There ensued a pause when the signaling 
stopped, and Joan feverishly studied the code, 
trying to memorize the shapes and colors of the 
flags and their outlandish names. For this rea- 
son she did not see a hoist go up aboard the 
Billington, till Garth suddenly shouted: 

* ‘ Easy — Pup — Y oke ! ’ ’ 

“How perfectly absurd!” laughed Joan. 
“Why did they pick out such ridiculous words? 


SHIPS AND SIGNALS 191 

EPY. Here we are. Guard-boats will make 
mail-trip at hour indicated.” 

“All those other flags mean the, hour,” said 
Garth. “Mike, Yoke — What ’s a yellow flag 
with a round black spot in the middle?” 

“Item,” said Joan promptly; “I just learned 
it.” 

“There are some more,” Garth said. “Nu- 
meral — Quack — Unit — Oh, there they go 
down!” 

Joan laughed so hard that she could not look 
at the code for some minutes. 

“Mike yoke item quack unit!” she gasped; 
1 ‘ and you do say them so solemnly, Garth ! ’ y 

After much searching through the signal- 
book, they came to the conclusion that the 
guard-boats would make the mail-trip at 8:15 

A. M. 

“And we must n’t forget to watch for them,” 
said Garth. 

“Do you really think they ’ll go?” Joan won- 
dered. 

When they looked up again, a single flag of 
yellow and black squares hung at the yard-arm 
of the Billing ton. Garth got to his feet sud- 
denly. 


192 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“That ’s the preparatory, ’ ’ he said enigmati- 
cally. 

A fragment of band-music reached them 
faintly. Garth’s hand flew, rigid, to his fore- 
head, and Joan, looking toward the ship, saw 
the signal gliding down, while slowly the Stars 
and Stripes rose, floated, and straightened out 
in the fresh wind. 

“Eat your breakfast, please, Garth,” said 
Jim, “and don’t keep trying to look out at the 
door, or you ’ll fall into your porridge. Those 
destroyers are not going out before you finish 
your food.” 

“Joan is nearly as bad,” said Elspeth. 
“I ’ve an idea that the code-book is concealed in 
her lap.” 

Joan grew a shade redder than her sunburn. 

“Forgive me!” she begged. “I did want to 
learn a few more of those flags, to be all ready 
after breakfast.” 

“I don’t believe that she has any notion of 
what she ’s eating,” said Jim. “She ’s prob- 
ably muttering oboe pup quack to herself.” 

“Is it quarter after eight yet, Foggerf” 
Garth asked. 

Jim pulled out his watch. 


SHIPS AND SIGNALS 


193 


“It is 8:16,” he said; “a shockingly late hour 
for a lighthouse breakfast. Why do you ask!” 

Garth was looking beseechingly at his 
mother. 

“Please, may we go and look out!” he im- 
plored. “They ordered the guard-boats in 
with the mail at 8 :15, and I think Joan does n’t 
believe they ’ll go.” 

“If it ’s a question of confirming her faith in 
the Navy, perhaps we ’d better allow her five 
minutes’ leave. Shall we let them, Elspeth!” 

“Go, dreadful children!” said Elspeth. 
“But come back before the rest of your break- 
fast is entirely cold.” 

“There goes a little boat now,” said Joan, 
as she reached the doorway and focussed the 
glasses. 

“Has she a flag at the bow!” asked Garth, 
shading his eyes with his hand. 

“Yes; it ’s a white flag with some spots on 
it. It looks very much like the Five of Clubs.” 

“That ’s the guard flag!” shouted Garth, in 
triumph. “I told you they’d go, Joan. Of 
course they always obey orders.” 

They spent most of the morning watching for 
signals, and by noon a sheet of paper was well 
covered with their cryptic notes. None of the 


194 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


messages were of international importance, but 
each time that she deciphered one, Joan felt as 
though state secrets could not be more thrilling. 
The paper contained some such record as this : 

BAZ: (from the Billington) : Pipe down 
scrubbed bags. 

BWQ: Pipe down aired bedding. (All 
these disappeared.) 

ABS: Recall all absentees. 

ERU : Pipe down washed clothes. 

CNF : There will be time for the crew to get 
their dinner. (“I do wonder what they 're go- 
ing to do afterward ! ' 9 said Joan. “And how 
busy they must be, piping down such a number 
of things ! ' 9 

ERX : Shake out reef in scrubbed ham- 
mocks. 

“Now that's really absurd!" Joan said. 
“How do you take a reef in a scrubbed ham- 
mock, and why should you want to shake it out? 
Why, the Billington gives those ships no peace ; 
she 's just like a fussy old hen with a brood of 
chicks — at them every minute." 

“What I don't see," said Garth, “is how 
they can hoist those answer signals so fast. 
There are perfect heaps of flags all hanging up 
in order on the signal-bridge. They have to 


SHIPS AND SIGNALS 


195 


bend them on — three or four of them — and 
yon ’d think it would take longer. They 
were n’t hoisting any when I was on the signal- 
bridge, so I couldn’t see how they do it.” 

“Were you on a destroyer?” Joan asked. 

“No; not a destroyer, hut a real battleship. 
It was last year, before we were in the war. 
Captain Fraser asked us out — he knows Fogger 
— and he sent in a launch for us. It was aw- 
fully exciting. We went all over her, and Cap- 
tain Fraser showed Fogger and Mudder every- 
thing. But I had a nice ensign all for myself, 
and he carried me down into the stoke-hold. 
It ’s not nearly as black as you ’d think, and 
not very hot. And we went up into a gun-tur- 
ret. That was fun ! We sort of wriggled along 
under it until we came to the little hole where 
you climb up, and then we went up an iron 
ladder. I could n’t possibly have done it, if the 
ensign had n’t been carrying me all the time, but 
it must have been rather hard for him.” 

“I should love to go on board a warship,” 
said Joan. “What was it like in the turret?” 

“It was very small,” said Garth, “and 
pretty hot. The gun-officer showed me the in- 
side of the gun — oh, it was so shiny and won- 
derful ! — and how they turn it around and slide 


196 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

the shells in. They were practising range-find- 
ing, and he showed me about that, too, only I ’ve 
forgotten it. And we went through such hun- 
dreds of places, down where they make ice and 
turn salt water into fresh, and I didn’t under- 
stand that at all. And when we went through 
the kitchen, they were making peach ice-cream 
for dinner, and they gave me ever such a big 
dish of it. F ogger and Mudder did n ’t get any. 
It was awfully good. The ensign said that they 
use a hundred dozen eggs for one breakfast.” 
Oh, not really!” Joan exclaimed. 

“Yes, really! There are a thousand men on 
the ship, and that would only make about one 
apiece, would n’t it?” 

“Just imagine feeding such a family!” Joan 
gasped. “One breakfast, for one ship! Oh, 
look ! All our destroyers are flying a red pen- 
nant.” 

“That means they’re eating dinner,” said 
Garth. “They have it very early, don’t they! 
Oh, here ’s Fogger.” 

How long has the Billington been showing 
the cornet?” Jim asked. 

“Is she?” cried Garth. “Oh, quick, then; 
this is exciting !” 

“What do you mean?” questioned Joan. 


SHIPS AND SIGNALS 


197 


“Do you see that all-colors-of-the-rainbow 
flag at the half yardarm !” Jim said. “It 
means that all ships present are to come to at- 
tention and receive a message. Let ’s have the 
glass, Garth* they ’ll probably send it in sema- 
phore.” 

Joan sat with pencil poised, ready to put 
down the words. 

“Now we shall hear something really impor- 
tant,” she said; “an order to go and shoot at a 
submarine, or something.” 

“There she goes!” said Jim. “The — Bill- 
ington — has received — ” 

“Orders, probably,” murmured Joan, scrib- 
bling. 

“Forty — five — ” 

“What, I wonder!” whispered Garth. 

Jim proceeded steadily, gazing through the 
glass at the tiny form of a sailor moving his 
flags on the signal-bridge of the Billing ton. 

‘ ‘ Pounds — of — Cucumbers — ’ 9 

“Oh, oh!” laughed Joan. 

“Which — were — not — ordered — by — 
her. The — ship — to — which — they — be- 
long — will — please — com — municate — with 
— the — Billington — at — once.” 

The three were all laughing so much that they 


198 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


really could not see whether or not one of the 
destroyers claimed the cucumbers. 

“The defenders of our seas!” said Joan. 
“Oh, what perfect old dears they are in private 
life!” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


STEVE AND SEA-DTJST 

T HE afternoon did not bring Joan and 
Garth many additions to their record, but 
toward its close it brought a gray Government 
launch steaming very definitely in the direction 
of the Light. 

“It can’t be coming here,” Garth said; “that 
is, I don’t see why it should.” 

But the launch proceeded steadily, and made 
a neat landing at the lighthouse pier. A sailor 
grappled the steps with a boat-hook, and the 
launch bobbed and puffed while a white-clad 
officer came ashore. With his cap in his hand, 
he ran up the rocks, smiling expectantly. 
When he saw Joan he stopped short, seemingly 
much embarrassed, for he was a very young 
officer. 

“I ’m mighty sorry,” he said, twirling his 
white and gold cap. “I thought the Pember- 
leys lived here still.” And he was about to 
flee, when Joan said: 


199 


200 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“They do! I ’m just staying with them. 
I ’ll call them. ’ ’ 

“Bui; — that ’s not Garth, surely! Is it?” he 
asked. 

“It most certainly is,” Joan assured him. 

“My goodness!” cried the young officer, 
thrusting out his hand to Garth. “Shake! I 
reckon you don’t remember me, and I must say 
I shouldn’t have known you. The last time I 
saw you was about four years ago. I guess it 
was the first summer you were here, and you 
certainly have changed a heap.” 

“Have I?” said Garth, gazing at him with 
much admiration. 

“You surely have!” said the ensign. 
“Seems to me you were sort of lying around in 
your bunk then. And my gracious ! I have n ’t 
been able to raise a tan like that on the boat! 
Do you remember how I toted you over to the 
window and showed you my ship and the rest 
of ’em?” 

“I kn almost sure I do,” reflected Garth, 
“but I didn’t know it was you.” 

“He was mighty little,” the young man said 
to Joan; “he wouldn’t remember me. 
There ’s Mrs. Pemberley now!” He jumped 
up as Elspeth came to the door. 


STEVE AND SEA-DUST 201 

‘ i W ell, of all people ! ’ 9 she cried. “ Ho w very 
nice. 0 Jim! Here *s Steve Warren.” 

She introduced him to Joan, and Jim ran out 
in another moment. The men shook hands 
heartily. 

“ A sure-enough ensign!” said Jim. “The 
last time we saw you, you were a plebe at Ann- 
apolis, were n’t you? How ’s Virginia?” 

“I ’ve just come up from down there,” Steve 
said. “Oh, it ’s finer than ever! I ’ve been 
home for two weeks. My, I certainly did de- 
spise leaving! I joined the Billington at Nor- 
folk.” 

“Oh, so you ’re on the Billington now!” said 
Jim. “We ’ve just been hearing about you and 
your cucumbers . ’ 9 

Steve grinned. 

“Well! Have you been keeping track of us? 
We 11 have to be mighty careful of what we 
say!” 

“We ’ve been absorbed all day,” Joan said. 
“We heard about piping down scrubbed bags 
and clothes, and all kinds of interesting things. 
But do tell me how you shake out a reef in a 
scrubbed hammock?” 

“I guess it meant a reef in the clothes-lines,” 
laughed Steve. “What I really came to ask is, 


202 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


whether yon-all would like to steam around a 
while in the launch.’ ’ 

“Is she yours to command?” asked Jim. 

“ Surely is!” Steve assented. “Captain 
Fraser ’s our Flotilla Commander, and when 
he found out I knew you, he said he did, too. 
So he sent me over here, because he couldn’t 
come himself, and here ’s a perfectly good 
steamer.” 

“We ’d love to go,” Elspeth said. 

“I doubt if Garth would care about it,” Jim 
remarked solemnly, calling forth a look of deep 
reproach from his son. 

When they boarded the launch, the coxswain 
saluted and the barefooted sailors stood at at- 
tention. Garth was quite overcome with pride 
and gazed rapturously at the young officer. 

“I wish I could take you aboard of a ship,” 
said Steve, as they settled themselves under 
the canopy and the launch puffed away from 
the pier, “but I haven’t the authority. Aw- 
fully strict nowadays. We ’ll go round among 
’em, though.” 

As they neared the Billington, another steam- 
launch was seen approaching, a pennant flutter- 
ing at her bow. 

“Senior boat,” said Steve, as the engine of 


STEVE AND SEA-DUST 


203 


his steamer stopped. He saluted very stiffly; 
then the engine began to sputter again. ‘ 1 Com- 
manding officer/ ’ he explained. “Glad he 
wasn’t going the same way we are, or we ’d 
have had to ask permission to pass him.” 

“What a lot you need to remember!” said 
Joan. 

“There* are harder things to remember than 
signals and salutes, aren’t there, Steve!” said 
Jim. 

“When you get into the Navy this fall, Fog- 
ger, ’ ’ said Garth, ‘ ‘ Steve will have to salute you 
like that, won’t he!” 

Jim laughed. 

“By that time,” he said, “Steve will prob- 
ably be a lieutenant, and I shall have to salute 
him.” 

The launch circled about under the sharp, 
curved bows of the destroyers, and the glimpses 
of busy life on board were very tantalizing. 

“If you lean out so far and try to see so 
much, they ’ll think you ’re a German spy,” 
said Jim, pulling Garth back from the gunwale. 
“Besides, don’t you know Paragraph 116, Buie 
7! ‘The coxswain of a power-boat is especially 
responsible that the crew and passengers sit 
down in their proper places; that they do not 


204 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

sit on the gunwale ; and that they conduct them- 
selves in a seamanlike and proper manner/ ” 

A sailor standing just outside the canopy 
emitted a smothered chuckle. 

“I reckon Garth ’s right about my having to 
salute you, sir!” grinned Steve. 

In the course of the trip it transpired that 
Steve had shore-leave until half past eight that 
evening, and it took little persuasion to induce 
him to have supper at the Light. 

“Some of us will set you out to the Billington 
afterward,” Jim assured him, “so you need n't 
worry about getting back. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Hooray ! ’ 9 cried Steve. ‘ ‘ That ’s just about 
fine ! ’ 9 

Consequently, when the launch returned to 
Silver Shoal, the young officer disembarked with 
the other passengers. 

“It certainly does seem good,” he said, when 
they had sat down to supper, “to get a meal 
that *s like home once in a while. Wb have 
great food on the ship, but that *s not all that 
counts.” 

“What have you chaps been doing since we 
got into the big fight?” Jim asked. “We 9 ve 
not been seeing much of the Navy lately.” 

“My!” Steve exclaimed. “I guess not! I 


STEVE AND SEA-DUST 


205 


wish I could tell you what-all we have been do- 
ing, but it *s verboten, as the Hun would say.” 

“Submarines been biting the bottom?” Jim 
suggested. 

“Something like that,” Steve agreed. 
“Shove the sea-dust, will you?” 

Then he blushed violently, as Jim passed him 
the salt. 

“You certainly must excuse me, Mrs. Pem- 
berley,” he stammered hastily. “We get 
mighty rough, living on the boats. We get to 
calling things by the greatest names ! You see, 
we *re likely to say ‘ slide the grease/ when we 
mean ‘pass the butter/ and ‘sling the red lead/ 
instead of ‘hand me the tomato catsup.* I 
guess I’ma pretty bad example for Garth/* he 
said, looking across the table. 

Garth, who was having supper with the fam- 
ily on this occasion, was absorbing these 
phrases with great relish and possibly storing 
them up for future use. 

“I got poor Mother all upset when I was 
home this time/* Steve said, “because I forgot 
to go easy on the sea-slang, and Shirley soaked 
it all up and then shot it off at the wrong time, 
when there were grand folks calling, or some- 
thing. She *s my sister, Miss Kirkland. 


206 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


She ’s about eleven. I never saw such a kid.” 

When they rose from the table later, Steve 
lifted Garth into his arms. 

“I ’ll bet I know what you want to do,” he 
said. “You ’re pining to go out and see what 
those ships are saying to each other. Come 
along, let ’s look.” He stole a furtive glance 
at Elspeth. “Your mother ’s going to say you 
ought to go to bed — I see it in the corner of her 
starboard eye — but you ’re not going, are you 1 ’ ’ 

“What a dreadfully demoralizing creature 
you are!” cried Elspeth. “Implanting all 
these revolutionary ideas in my son’s mind! 
But this seems to he a special night, and he 
might as well keep on with the gay pace. He 
wouldn’t sleep, if I did put him to bed, so out 
with you!” 

They all went outside and sat on the bench 
and on the rock. Steve sat at Jim’s feet, with 
Garth on his lap, and they looked toward the 
ships. Although it was not yet fully dark, and 
the sky still held the deep emerald of late twi- 
light, the destroyers had begun their evening 
signaling. From the masthead of the Billing- 
ton two white lights, close together, flashed with 
bewildering rapidity. 

“Don’t you really find this much harder than 


STEVE AND SEA-DUST 


207 


the old Ardois, Steve ! ’ 7 Elspeth asked. ‘ ‘ Why, 
even I could sometimes read those nice red-and- 
white lights that stayed long enough to be 
seen.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve replied; “the 
Blinkies are all right when you ’re used to ’em. 
Sometimes, when the fellow that ’s sending gets 
careless and does n’t space his letters well, it ’s 
pretty messy. But it ’s a lot quicker than 
Ardois.” 

“Have you been watching the Billington, 
Steve!” Jim asked. 

“No,” said the ensign. “What ’s she up to! 
What the mischief is he saying!” 

The men set themselves to untangle the mean- 
ing of the flickering signals, and they repeated 
the messages aloud. For the most part these 
were ridiculous personalities, the idle small-talk 
of sailors practising the code. Joan, leaning 
back, gazed with half-closed eyes. Soft dark- 
ness, the ships invisible save for scattered clus- 
ters of lights, and above, the signals winking 
trivialities through the night. She realized 
that beneath each group of lamps a world lay, 
an existence complete unto itself. To-morrow 
night the ships might lie in a different port, 
they might be on the high seas; but the life 


208 


SILVEE SHOAL LIGHT 


aboard them would remain unchanged. The 
“blinkies” at the masthead would flash Ameri- 
can slang across the dark waters of a foreign 
harbor with the same zeal and detachment as 
here in Pettasantuck Bay. 

A message from the Billington was broken off 
abruptly, much to the disappointment of the 
spectators on the rock. In fact, all the de- 
stroyers had stopped signaling simultaneously. 

“She ’s going to send an official message, I 
guess/ ’ Steve said. 

Dash — dash — dash — dash the lights blinked 
briskly. 

“Cornet again,” Jim remarked. 

The ships all replied with their own call-let- 
ters, and after a great deal of repetition of calls 
and displaying of steady lights, the Billington 
proceeded wnth her message : 

Recall all liberty men at once . 

“That likewise includes officers on leave of 
absence, I guess, — meaning me,” Steve sighed. 
“They ’ve gone and pinched a half hour off our 
time.” 

“The bay ’s as flat as a mill-pond,” Jim said. 
“Mrs. Pemberley and Miss Kirkland will row 
you over to the Billington in no time ; I Ve got 
to stay on the job. Good luck, Steve ! I hope 


209 


STEVE AND SEA-DUST 

you ’ll get in again.” He gripped the young 
man’s hand. 

“Garth ’s going, too, isn’t he?” Steve asked, 
as they began to move toward the landing. 

“Now, really!” Elspeth protested. 

“Of course he is!” Steve cried. “I ’ve got 
him, anyhow, so you can’t get him away. Why, 
it ’s not eight bells yet! And look what a fine 
night for rowing around. This is a kind of an 
occasion, I reckon.” 

“It seems to be,” Elspeth agreed. “I ’m 
glad we don’t have ensigns around every day, 
or there ’d be no discipline in this lighthouse !” 

The boat slid deliciously over the long oily 
swell, and the oars splashed a weird trail of 
phosphorescence at every stroke. The lights of 
the Billing ton were doubled with a sharp bright- 
ness on the inky water, and their wavering re- 
flections reached halfway to the skiff in clear- 
cut lines and patches of gold. Steve pulled 
what he called a “regular cutter stroke” and 
sang Annapolis songs. As they approached the 
Billington, he stopped in the middle of a verse. 

“I ’d better cut it out,” he said, “or I ’ll be 
getting a reprimand, or something. 

“What ’s that?” cried Garth suddenly, point- 


ing. 


210 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

At the bow of the Billing ton, and apparently 
suspended in the sky, gigantic black and white 
figures capered grotesquely, high above the 
deck. 

"It does look funny off here,” Steve admit- 
ted. It ’s the movies. We have ’em every 
night. It ’s Charlie Chaplin just now; we get 
all the old favorites.” 

“I never saw any in my life,” said Garth, 
gazing spell-bound at the ridiculous gyrations 
of Charlie against the stars. 

“Really,” Elspeth said, “ seeing a moving- 
picture for the first time would be quite amaz- 
ing enough, without its being cut out of mid- 
air on the bosom of the sea ! How perfectly ex- 
traordinary it looks!” 

They were all staring at it so hard that the 
Cymba nearly ran into the bow of the ship. 

“It would have been terrible if we ’d run 
down the Billington and sunk her,” Steve said. 

Captain Fraser would never have forgiven me. 
We can come alongside the starboard gangway. 
In bows! Oars! Way enough! There she 
is!” 

He jumped out of the skiff and executed long- 
distance hand-shakes with every one. 

“I just can’t tell you what a bright and shin- 


211 


STEVE AND SEA-DUST 

in g spot you-all have put in my career,’ ’ he said. 
“Good-by! I surely am glad to have met you, 
too, Miss Kirkland. I ’ll shove your boat oft.” 

He gave the Cymba a push that sent her ten 
feet from the gangway and ran up to the deck, 
where he stood waving his cap. 

“Steve is a nice child,” said Elspeth, as they 
pulled away, “but he ’s so very young and 
strenuous. Are you steering, Garth, or are you 
asleep? We don’t want to go into Quimpaug 
just at present.” 

“I ’m not asleep,” said Garth, hastily pulling 
the yoke-lines. “I was just looking at those 
movies.” 

The destroyers stayed all the next day, filling 
the harbor with busy life and movement. The 
clear sound of their bells swung across the 
water; their launches zig-zagged perpetually 
back and forth ; the signal-flags fluttered up and 
down ; the men semaphored endlessly. But the 
following morning Silver Shoal woke to find an 
empty bay. 

“They ’ve gone!” Garth lamented, as Joan 
came downstairs. “Just gone, before we were 
awake. Oh, I wanted them to stay longer!” 

They had slipped out, like gray wraiths in the 


212 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


dawn, and with them had gone Steve Warren, 
with his straight, honest grin and his slow, 
Southern speech, and his wonderful white uni- 
form. 

“Fogger,” said Garth, looking up from his 
porridge, “will you please shove me the sea- 
dust ?” 


CHAPTER XIX 


cap’n ’bijah gives an invite 

A Letter from Elspeth Pemberley to Her 
Brother 

Silver Shoal, 
July 20th. 

Dearest Brob : 

What a nice letter you wrote me ! Thank you for 
the news of the outer world. It is so far away that 
all you tell me seems like the telling of a dream. But 
I am very glad that you are having so much interest- 
ing work of your own, and that you are loving it more 
than ever. How I wish that I could see it all ! 

Garth still designs boats vigorously whenever the 
weather keeps him from being in a real one. The 
drawings aren't artistic, but Jim thinks them quite 
remarkable from a builder's point of view. Garth 
apparently has the talent of feeling good lines, even 
though his hand is not well enough trained to draw 
them accurately, and Jim is quite excited by the pos- 
sibilities of development. 

Some destroyers were in last week, and of course 
Garth was thrilled. Joan was thrilled, too, strange 
to relate, and stared at signals all day with a telescope. 
I did malign her dreadfully at first, when I told you 
that she had no imagination, but there were certainly 
no indications of it then. A new and absorbing game 
213 


214 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

has been instituted. I don’t know whether she or 
Garth began it, but both of them play at it with equal 
energy. Jim and I became aware one morning that 
our son was, in reality, Captain Crosstrees, and our 
guest Bo ’sun Ben Bobstay — both belonging, as far 
as we can make out, to a bygone age, the “good days” 
of Jim’s tales. Their conversation is nautical in the 
extreme — though I regret to say that the Captain fre- 
quently lapses into very modern speech — and their be- 
haviour most salty. They go for long rows and short 
sails alone (you can see how much she has risen in 
Jim’s estimation when he trusts her with Garth and 
the Ailouros). What they do on these trips, I don’t 
know, but I imagine that they are on three-year 
cruises, discovering strange lands, pirate isles, and 
what not, beneath imaginary Southern stars. Jim 
sometimes joins in, playing every role, from Admiral 
and Sea Lord to cabin-boy; but I am a sorry crea- 
ture and have not even been taken on as ship ’s cook. 

I am content, however, because Captain Crosstrees 
still has need of me in my old capacity — as his 
Mudder — and to see him at twilight, half-asleep in 
my arms, you would never suspect that he had just 
come in from a voyage around the Horn. But it is 
hard to recognize in Ben Bobstay, that rollicking and 
“uneddicated” salt, the stately young lady whose 
shade-hat blew out to sea not so long ago. So I give 
her credit— her, or Garth, or the Genius of the Briny 
Deep — for a great improvement. 

I told you, I think, how she took Garth to town at 
a summons from the doctor, and how well she man- 
aged the expedition. Dr. Stone, by the way, said, 


CAP’N ’BIJAH GIVES AN INVITE 215 


much the same things as usual. I suppose there is 
nothing to be done, other than what Silver Shoal is 
doing, but that ’s a good deal. 

The Count has made no further manifestations 
since his tea-party, though we occasionally see him 
flitting about with his paint-box when we go to Quim- 
paug. I meant to tell you, by the way, that our in- 
terest in him has cooled. He behaved rather nastily 
to Garth, who has feelings, even though he is a small 
person. Of course that finished Fishashki with Jim. 
We all were becoming disgusted, anyway, with his 
silly affectation, in spite of the enchanting music he 
plays. Here ’s your nephew, who says: “Give 
Uncle Brob my love, and tell him that I can tie a fish- 
erman’s bend and a becket-hitch. ” That ’s more than 
I can do! Much love from 

Elspeth. 

“No; I won’t come ashore, thank ye kindly,” 
said Cap’n ’Bijah in response to Elspeth ’s in- 
vitation. “What I come to ask was, whether 
mebbe Miss Kirkland an’ the Fust Mate yonder 
would keer to go outside with me a piece, — 
fishin’. I got the tackle an’ I got some vittles. 
I heerd tell the mack’rel was a-runnin’. 
Hullo!” he chuckled, as Garth came to the edge 
of the pier in high glee and held out his arms 
to the Cap’n, who swung him into the boat; 
“ ’pears like one on ’em ’s goin’ to accept my 
invite ! ’ ’ 


216 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


4 ‘ Here ’s the other one, Cap’n ’Bijah,” said 
J oan. i i Are n ’t yon nice to think of ns ! ’ ’ She 
took the Captain’s hard, brown hand and 
stepped into the swaying boat. “ Shall I sit 
here ? ’ 9 

The Lydia splattered ont into open water and 
the passengers waved their hands to Elspeth, 
who was a little bewildered by their sudden 
departure. 

‘ 4 Don’t hev no objections to steerin’ a boat 
ever, do ye?” Cap’n ’Bijah inquired jocularly 
of Garth, who sat looking with longing eyes at 
the tiller. “Guess ye might as well take her; 
I ’ll ’tend to the in-jine. My! you go to thet 
air tiller like ’t was a magnet ! Will it put you 
out, ma’am, ef I smoke my ol’ pipe?” 

“Please do!” Joan begged. “What a won- 
derful day to be on the water! Where do you 
mean to go, Cap’n ’Bijah?” 

“Out a piece,” replied the old man, slicing 
off a chunk of plug tobacco and rolling it in his 
rough palms. “Hope you ’re a good sailor. 
Kind o’ tryin’, ef ye ain’t, anchorin’ out thar.” 

“She ’s a very good sailor,” said Garth, “and 
I don’t mind it.” 

“You!” chuckled the Captain. “You ’re a 
reg’lar stormy-petrel. Guess ’t would take a 


CAP ’N ’BIJAH GIVES AN INVITE 217 


hewrycane to bother yon any. But it seems to 
me like you thought you was steerin’ a sailin’ 
boat. What fer do ye keep headin’ her up close 
to the wind 1 This la ’nch don ’t pay no heed to 
wind ner nawthin’ else.” 

‘ 6 That ’s so!” Garth said. “I was thinking 
all the time that I was letting her fall off too 
much, but it doesn’t make any diff’rence, of 
course. I never steered a motor-boat before.” 

When they had reached what the Captain con- 
sidered a likely place, he stopped the Lydia’s 
engine and anchored her. 

“Here ’s tackle fer all on us,” he said, “an’ 
thar ’s bait in the kittle. Wall Look at the 
lady gettin’ right in an’ baitin’ up her own! 
Some on ’em ’s kind o’ fancy an’ won’t get their 
hands in it, but I see you ’re salt-water folks, 
ma ’am. ’ ’ 

“She wouldn’t do it at first,” Garth said, 
“but she thinks it ’s fun now.” 

“You ’ve gone and spoiled my reputation as 
salt-water folks,” Joan complained, wiping her 
hand on her skirt. “Now the Captain won’t 
believe I ’m not really fancy.” 

“Oh, ’shaw!” said ’Bijah. “You bean’t the 
kind I mean. Some o’ them frilly folks up to 
the Hotel, I ’m thinkin’ about. Don’t you let a 


218 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


great ol’ monstrous codfish take an’ pull ye 
overboard now, Ga’th.” 

They settled themselves silently to the busi- 
ness of fishing. The mackerel showed no signs 
of activity, and the occupation took on its most 
peaceful form. Across the blue field of the sky 
small puffs of cloud followed each other end- 
lessly, “like sheep jumping over a wall,” 
thought Joan drowsily, “but I mustn’t begin 
counting them, or I shall go to sleep.” The 
water lapped rhythmically against the boat, a 
little slumbrous accompaniment wholly in tune 
with the rest of the dreaming world. Far up — 
wheeling flecks of light against the clouds — the 
gulls hovered and sailed; their cries dropped 
down faintly like the echo of a wild wind. Up 
the coast Hy Brasail lifted a purple outline; 
through some freak of atmosphere the islet 
seemed to be floating above the water. 

“ ’Tis cur’ous,” ’Bijah said, when Joan re- 
marked upon it. “An’ look at the end o’ the 
p’int, whar it makes out yonder; you ’d say 
’t was curled up like. All them little sticks that 
looks like fishnet stakes ain’t really thar at 
all.” 

“And see how queer that schooner is out 
there,” Garth said. “All wobbly; and you ’d 


CAP ’N ’BIJAH GIVES AN INVITE 219 

think she hadn’t any hull. It ’s mirage, isn’t 
it?” 

“No; ’tis a loom,” the Cap hi replied. 
“Reg’lar miradge turns things upsydown an’ 
shows ’em to ye whar they ain’t. I ’member 
oncet when I was a young feller cruisin’, I see 
a ship in the sky, wrong side up an’ sailin’ 
along. We was down in the Agulhas, an’ there 
was one feller thought ’t was the Fly in’ Dutch- 
man sartin an’ come near havin’ a fit. But the 
miradge was so plain we made her out by her 
rig to be the ol’ Britomart out o’ Salem. An’ 
tubbe sure, byme-by she come up over the hori- 
zon, an’ ’t was the Britomart , right enough.” 

‘ 4 How weird ! ” J oan said. 

Garth’s eyes had taken on the distant look 
that always filled them when he heard tales of 
the sea. 

“There ’s nothing in the world so wonderful 
as a ship, is there ? ” he said, dreamily. 

The Captain thumped a horny fist on the gun- 
wale. 

“You ’re right, by Jawge!” he said. 
“Nawthin’ in the world so wonderful — ner so 
handsome — ner — ner so much wuth while!” 

“No,” said Garth. 

“Fer the matter o’ thet,” ’Bijah pursued, ex- 


220 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

citedly, “they ain’t nawthin’ in the world that 
is wuth while, ’ceptin’ only a ship I” 

“No,” Garth said; “nothing.” 

The fishers sat silent, now and then drawing 
in the lines to see that they were still baited 
properly. ’Bijah smoked his pipe and studied 
the horizon with narrowed, sea-worn eyes. The 
Lydia rose and fell with a monotonous motion, 
flicking a shimmering string of drops from her 
anchor cable each time she lifted. 

The line Garth held sang suddenly through 
his hand. He let it go with a little gasp, and 
caught it again immediately. ’Bijah sprang 
across the boat and seized it. 

“Leggo thar,” the Captain said, “an’ lemme 
hev thet; it ’s most got the hand off you al- 
ready. What in thunder you got here, any- 
ways? Feels like you ’d hooked the 01’ Sea- 
Sarpint hisself.” 

He hauled away at the line, while Garth, hold- 
ing his cut fingers, leaned eagerly over the gun- 
wale. 

“This ain’t no mackerel,” ’Bijah said. 
“Gorry! it ’s a codfish you got, Ga’th. Look 
at here!” He flopped a great shining fish into 
the dingy cockpit. “Eight pounds, or I ’m a 
land-lubber ! ’ ’ 


CAP ’N ’BIJAH GIVES AN INVITE 221 

“That ’s a gorgeous catch l” Joan cried. 

‘ i Much bigger than my blackfish. Garth ! 
What ’s the matter with your hand?” 

He held it out, showing a long gash across the 
fingers. 

“Line cut it,” he said briefly. 

“He shore did pull some,” ’Bijah said. 
“Guess thet hurts ye, hey? Want to stop an’ 
go home?” 

“Go home!” Garth exclaimed. “Gracious, 
no ! Why, we ’ve only caught one, and we 
haven’t had lunch, and you ’ve got to tell us 
a yarn! Will you tie your handkerchief round 
it, Joan? I haven’t any. I ’ll fish with the 
other hand. Of course I don’t want to go 
home. ’ ’ 

“Did n’t know but ye might,” the Cap’n said. 
“Keep fergettin’* you ain’t one o’ them sissy 
kids up ko the Hotel. I take them out con- 
sid’able, an’ it ’s enough to get a saint sorry fer 
hisself. Wal, s ’posing we get the lines up fer a 
while an’ tackle the vittles.” 

The “vittles,” which Cap’n ’Bijah produced 
from sundry dinner-pails and paper bags, were 
quite different from the sort which generally 
figured in Pemberley picnics. They were the 
kind with which the Captain usually supplied 


222 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


himself, with a few fancy touches for the guests. 
There were enormously thick sandwiches of 
meat between slices of bread; there were dill- 
pickles and hermit-cookies, also a can of cold 
coffee and half a blueberry pie. 

“ ’T ain’t much,” the Captain apologized, 
setting the things in a row on the seat. i ‘ Jest 
plain stuff, but fillin’. Fall to! My gracious, 
I ain’t brought no tools to eat with!” 

He looked quite horrified, until Joan and 
Garth, laughing, assured him that knives and 
forks on a picnic were unknown to them and 
that they would have considered it much too 
grand, had he brought them. 

“Wal!” beamed the Captain, taking a hearty 
circular bite from a sandwich, followed at once 
by a gulp of coffee, 4 ‘you folks out thar, you ’re 
sartinly all right. They jest ain’t no rubbish 
about you a -tall. No, sir!” 

"If this is coffee, it ’s awfully good,” ob- 
served Garth over the top of his cup. "I don’t 
get any at home. ’ ’ 

The good Captain put down his dill pickle in 
dismay. 

"I never thought o’ thet. Guess you ain’t 
allowed it, hey ? Mebbe you ’d better not ; don ’t 


CAP’N ’BIJAH GIVES AN INVITE 223 

want yer payrents thinkin’ I done yer di-gestion 
no ha’m.” 

‘ ‘ They wonld n ’t mind , 9 9 Garth said, holding 
ont his cup. “Once won’t hurt me. Besides, 
it ’s nice. More, please!” 


CHAPTER XX 


THE BELLA S. 

W HEN such fragments of the “vittles” as 
were left had been cleared away, the 
three fishers resumed their lines, and before 
long Joan hauled in a little mackerel. This 
was the beginning of a very lively hour, when 
they were kept busy attending to their lines. 
Garth landed his fish with a hand and a half and 
asked help of no one. 

“It really doesn’t hurt much,” he said; “but 
I ’m afraid your handkerchief will never be any 
more good, Joan. I can’t keep it out of the 
mackerel. ’ 9 

There was a lull in the biting — the school had 
passed, perhaps — and Garth took one turn 
around a cleat with his line and counted his 
catch. The Captain refilled his pipe, which he 
had not had an opportunity to attend to for 
some time. 

“When was it that you were master of the 
Bella 8.?” Joan hinted, mindful of the story 
which she had not yet heard. 

224 


225 


THE BELLA S. 

‘ ‘ Wal, wall’' said ’Bijah, with a sigh. ‘ ‘ The 
Bella SJ Guy, but she was a beauty! An’ 
them fellers up to the City, thet don’t know a 
forestays ’1 sheet from a marline-spike, they 
went an’ they—” The Captain sputtered 
wrathily and pulled violently at his pipe. 

“What did they do? I should so like to 
hear,” Joan begged. 

“ ’T is a long yarn ; I misdoubt you would n’t 
want to hear it.” 

“I ’ve been longing to hear it ever since the 
first time I saw you,” Joan assured him. 

“Wal,” said the Cap’n, much pleased by her 
interest, “the Bella S. was a three-mast 
schooner, an’ she was built by a man I knowed. 
He was one that ’d set by the hour in his sail- 
loft, jest settin’ and thinkin’, with a piece o’ 
wood in his hand an’ a jack-knife. But all the 
while he ’d be plannin’ a ship. ’T would jest 
grow in his mind like a flower, an’ then he d 
whittle out a hull jest the lines o’ the big hull 
thet was goin’ to be. It ’s all in thet, ma am, 
gettin’ the fust goin’s-in right,— an’ Sam 
Cooper he spent more time on the goin’s-in o’ 
the Bella S. than any schooner he built. I was 
in betwixt cruises whilst she was buildin’, an’ I 
useter hang round the yard jest watchin’ her 


226 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


grow an’ praisin’ the Lord fer the beauty of 
her. An’ the day she was la’nehed, she went 
down the ways an’ took the water like the lady 
she was, an’ Sam he jest smiled at her kind o’ 
dreamy-like an’ went back to his sail-loft an’ 
his whittlin’. But she was the last he ever 
built. Pore Sam! He ’s be’n gone ten years 
now. I ’m glad he went afore she did. 

“Wal, she was owned by a firm up to the 
City, — one o’ them consarns thet manages their 
affairs from a roller-top desk an’ a tellyphone, 
an’ would n’t know one o’ their own ships ef she 
come sailin’ in at the door. Wal, ma’am, my 
dream come true, an’ they made me master o’ 
the Bella S. Sackett, the S stood fer, after the 
gal Sam Cooper married when he was a young 
feller, an’ she died afore a month was gone. 
She was my j’y, thet schooner. I hadn’t got 
no wife ner child ner kin, an’ she made up to 
me fer all on ’em. I useter stand up for’ard 
an’ listen to the water round her foot thet was 
like a tune, an’ I ’d look aft an’ up an’ see the 
new cloths of her, shinin’ white, an’ the bright 
varnished sticks, an’ hear the singin’ thet she 
made fer me from the wind in her riggin’. Oh, 
she was a handy one in all weathers, an’ one 
that ’d obey without workin’ an’ coaxin’. She 


THE BELLA S. 


227 


loved her work, ma’am, an’ she done it well. 
Dura them small fry, pesterin’ my bait!” said 
the Captain huskily, peering over the side of 
the boat. He went on presently: 

“Wal, I sailed her four years, an’ we got 
on together wonderful well. Then one time we 
was caught off the Maine sea-coast in a tur’ble 
heavy fog, an’ we anchored. An’ as the fog 
begun to lift a mite at sun-up, we see another 
schooner bearin’ ha’d inshore. I took the glass 
an’ made her out the ol’ Singapore , thet was 
owned by the same comp’ny as the Bella. She 
was an ol’-time tops’l schooner — lan’ knows 
how many cruises she ’d made — but thar was 
life in her yet, an’ she had them fine ol’ lines 
thet ’s gettin’ scurse now. Wal, sir, it soon 
become plain to me thet her skipper knew whar 
he was an’ wharto he was headin’ jest as much 
as I did. He was deliberaly standin’ in fer 
the rocks as slick as he could, an’ I could see 
the boats all slung ready to be lowered away. 
The wind was a-comin’ now, an’ the fog goin’ 
inland, an’ I guv the Bella all she ’d take. 
’Pears the Singapore hadn’t saw us cornin’ 
round the p’int, an’ when she seen us now she 
kind o’ made as if she was thinkin’ ’bout tackin’ 
off again. But me an ’ one o ’ the crew we pulled 


228 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

fer her in a dory an* boarded her. The master 
— an elderly man he was thet I ’d never ha’ 
thought would ha’ done it, fer I ’d knowed him 
ashore — he was below studyin’ a chart very 
busy-like. I come in an’ shet the door. 

“ ‘See here,’ says I, ‘what fer be you tryin’ 
to run the Singapore on to the rocks V 

“He got red an’ white, an’ flared out with 
some strong words, ma’am, thet I wouldn’t 
want to repeat. 

“ ‘It ’s none o’ your business what I do,’ says 
he. ‘I ’m a-studyin’ the chart to see how I can 
get me away from this p ’int. ’ 

“ ‘You know this p’int as well as I do,’ says 
I, ‘an’ all this whole coast fer miles. You ’ve 
be’n navigatin’ in these waters longer ’n I hev, 
— an’ the more shame to ye. You ’re tryin’ to 
wreck the pore ol ’ Singapore fer her insurance, 
an’ I hope the dirty money ’ll burn yore hand, — 
’cep tin’ only you won’t get it, ef I get my way.’ 

“ ‘I ’m carryin’ out my comp’ny’s orders,’ 
says he, ‘which is more ’n you ’re doin’.’ 

“ ‘It ’s my comp’ny, too,’ says I, ‘but I think 
a heap less o’ it than I did afore, which is sayin’ 
a good deal.’ 

“An’ with thet I jumped out o’ the chart- 
room an’ slammed the door to an’ locked it. 


THE BELLA S. 


229 


4 4 4 The master ’s took sick, ’ says I to the mate 
o’ the Singapore. 4 1 ’m skipperin’ this vessel 
now. ’ 

“I sent the boy thet hed set me aboard back 
to the Bella with orders to my mate to foller 
the Singapore , an’ I brnng both o’ them schoon- 
ers into port. An’ I ’ll never forget — not so 
long ’s I live — the Bella a-follerin’ me home. 
Oh, she was the party one ! An ’ what broke my 
heart was thet I was n’t aboard of her thet last 
trip, ’cause I never sailed her no more.” 

4 4 They took her away from you?” Joan 
asked. 

4 4 Course they did,” the poor Captain said. 

4 4 Told me I was gettin’ purty old to hev a ship. 
’T was six year ago, an’ I was a sight rug- 
geder ’n I be now, an’ thet ’s a good deal. 
Them was the reasons they guv, but any fool 
knew, o’ course, why ’twas. I expected it, but 
lordy, what could I do, ma’am? ’T ain’t right ; 
’t ain’t right, seems so. The ol’ Singapore 
she ’s still a-potterin’ up an’ down, but they 
guv the Bella to a young chap was n’t fit to be 
mate of a lighter, an’ he lost her a month arter 
jest by plumb carelessness; lost her, an’ they 
saved nawthin’ off of her. Jest gone in her 
prime, like her she was named fer. I ’m glad 


230 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Sam Cooper ’s gone, though I misdoubt if he 
loved her as much as I did.” 

The Captain shook his head, and then stared 
suddenly at Garth. 

“What fer are ye crying” he exclaimed in 
dismay. “Oh, ’shaw, I didn’t go fer to make 
ye cry ! Be you takin’ it bad ’cause the pore ol’ 
Bella went down?” 

The old man put his arm awkwardly around 
Garth, who sniffed dejectedly and murmured 
something which ’Bijah bent his head to catch. 

“ ’Shaw, don’t you fret ’bout me! I guess 
the Lord A ’mighty knows what ’s best fer us, 
hey? I hear tell ye ’re plumb anxious to be a 
skipper yerself. Guess mebbe most on us has 
things we hanker after an’ don’t get.” He 
patted Garth’s shoulder with a seamed, brown 
hand. “Guy! Look at them tears! Guess 
them mackerel ’ll think they got back in the 
ocean, ef ye don’t stop cryin’ on to ’em!” 

They all had to laugh then; spirits revived, 
and the three were very jolly during the rest of 
the afternoon. They returned to the lighthouse 
late in the day, a good heap of fish shining in 
the cockpit of the Lydia . 

“Hi! Look at the mackerel!” cried Jim, 
holding the bow of the launch against the pier. 


THE BELLA S. 


231 


“And the huge one!” Elspeth exclaimed, 
pointing to the cod. ‘ ‘ ‘ A bid, bid fis ! ’ as Garth 
used to say long ago.” 

“I caught it!” Garth shouted. ‘ 4 That is, he 
was on my line, only Cap’n ’Bijah hauled him 
in, because he was too much for me. We 
thought he was the oP Sea-Sarpint himself.” 

’Bijah, helping Garth out of the Lydia , kept 
an arm about him a moment longer than was 
necessary; then shook his hand long and hard. 

“Wal, so long, mate,” he said. “I ’d like 
real well to hev ye come out with me agin, real 
well, an’ you, too, Miss Kirkland.” 

“ Nothing could keep me from coming, Cap hi 
’Bijah,” said Joan, clasping his hand. 

He waved his arm to them. The Lydia 
wheeled oft from the landing and puffed away, 
with a bubble of water behind her. Cap’n 
’Bijah stood in the stern, a straight, brown- 
faced figure. But above him Joan seemed to 
see a ghostly cloud of canvas, and beneath his 
hand, not the rusted iron tiller of the dingy 
launch, but the wheel of the Bella S. in all her 
youth and beauty. 

Jim, on his way to the landing next day, 
found his son seated behind the boat-house. 


232 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


Caleb sat beside him, smoking a pipe of strong 
tobacco. Garth wore a frown and wielded 
Caleb’s jack-knife on a block of wood with peril- 
ous zeal. 

‘ ‘ What ’s up, Cap’n Crosstrees?” Jim in- 
quired, putting down an empty oil-can. “What 
might you be making?” 

“The goin’s-in of a schooner,” said Garth 
absently. 

“The which?” his father asked. 

“The goin’s-in of a schooner,” said Garth, 
squinting down the lines of his handiwork. 
“Cap’n ’Bijah said so. About the Bella 8., 
you know. That ’s the way his friend built her 
— whittled the goin’s-in just the way she was 
going to be afterward. ’ ’ 

“I see,” said Jim. “Will there be a schooner 
just like these goin’s-in of yours? Because I 
won’t sail with her; I ’ll tell you that now!” 

Garth gave his critical parent a look of re- 
proach and peeled a neat shaving from the 
block. 

“ I ’m not done with her, ’ ’ he said. He threw 
the knife down suddenly and looked up at Jim. 

“And do you know what else Cap’n ’Bijah 
said about that man, Fogger? That a ship just 
grew in his mind like a flower, and then he had 


THE BELLA S. 


233 


to build her. Well, they ’re — they ’re sort of 
in my head, too, only — ” he made a vague ges- 
ture! — “only I can’t draw them or anything.” 
He grasped his father’s sleeve excitedly. 
“I ’ve got to know I” he said. “I ’ve got to 
learn how!” 

Caleb gave several vigorous and appreciative 
nods, but remained silent. Jim picked up his 
can. 

“Yes,” he agreed, “I think you ’ll have to 
learn how. And in the meantime, what about a 
knife of your own, less large and murderous 
than Caleb’s?” 

Garth let fall the goin’s-in of the schooner — 
he had privately named her the Joan K . — to 
embrace his father, oil-can and all. 


CHAPTER XXI 

TREASURE, HO ! 

J OAN and Garth sat on the edge of the rocks, 
discussing wind and weather, the way of a 
ship on the high seas, and the advantages of the 
early days over a modern time. 

‘ 4 Even so,” said Joan, flipping a stone into 
the water, “I don’t see why this wouldn’t be a 
good day for treasure-seeking.” 

Garth acclaimed the idea with joy. 

“Let ’s!” he agreed. “But where shall we 
begin! We ought to have a map, or something. 
Let ’s make one ! It would be lots more fun 
than just starting to dig anywhere.” 

“Wot,” Joan inquired in the gruff tones of 
Bo ’sun Bogstay, “might that be, sir?” 

Garth, in his part instantly, shaded his eyes 
and looked where she pointed. 

“A bottle,” said he, “if I ’m not a deadeye!” 
A bottle it was, — a black one, — and it had 
been bobbing peacefully in a sheltered pool for 
some time. 

“’Tis an uncommon bottle, sir,” Joan ob- 

234 


TREASURE, HO! 235 

served. “As I see it, there ’s a bit o’ sealin’- 
wax over the cork.’’ 

Garth scrambled hastily to the edge of the 
rock-pool and poked after the bottle with the 
end of a crutch, for it was a little beyond his 
reach. Joan pulled it in, and they held it up 
to the light. 

“There *s some’at in it, sir,” she commented; 
“a paper, like enough.” 

“Like enough from a shipwrecked mari- 
ner!” Captain Crosstrees suggested gleefully. 
“Smash it open, Bobstay, quick!” 

They broke the bottle against a rock and 
drew out a wad of paper. It was frayed and 
smoked at the edges, and much rumpled, but, 
even so, in marvellously good preservation, con- 
sidering the date it bore. For, below a skull 
and cross-bones, the figures 1732 were boldly 
written, and scrawled beneath: 

Pertaining to Ye Brigge Cardiffe. 

“H’m,” mused Ben Bobstay, while the Cap- 
tain forgot himself so far as to embrace his 
shipmate joyfully; “the Cardiff , is it? There ’s 
tales I could tell o’ her.” 

A solemn shake of the head and a tantaliz- 
ing pause taxed the patience of the other treas- 
ure-seeker. 


236 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“What ’s all this,” he demanded, “here at 
the bottom ?” 

Joan read on: “Being a Compleat Charte 
and Information pertaining to Certaine Islandes 
and Contente Thereof . . .” 

“Mysterious, they is,” Bobstay remarked. 
“Nothink plain-spoken, sir. Like enough, 
there ’s treasure hid on their i Certaine Is- 
landes. ’ And what, sir, might this be?” 

She indicated the signs at the bottom of the 
sheet, which ran in this fashioji : 

E-nu jv j nnoivu ^utnrL <3Avu vluffl 
cn rnucL v<l“iva njut-V ljvvl ja 
Vn>V3L VD<VL-UT njULV Vn>V3l- 
Vn>V3L 1 I VVL 

“That ’s what I was asking you about,” 
Garth said. Then, with dawning comprehen- 
sion: “It’s a cipher, mate! What does it 
mean? Hoes it mean anythmgV' 

“ ’Tis writ for us not to understand,” Bob- 
stay said gloomily. “Mayhap you might 
fathom it, sir, you bein’ an eddicated man.” 

“Does it mean something?” the Captain de- 
manded. “Does it — JoanV 9 

“I shouldn’t be surprised if it do,” she as- 
sented grudgingly. “Anyhow, we ’re middling 


237 


TREASURE, HO! 

certain ’tis writ in English, from what goes 
afore. Let ’s go at it, sir.” 

They went at it, and, for an “uneddicated 
man,” Bobstay solved the cipher in a surpris- 
ingly short time. It was discovered that the 
letters of the alphabet, if arranged in the fol- 
lowing figures, could be represented by the cu- 
rious signs on the paper. 


AB 

CD 

ET 

AH 

13 

HU 

I1N 

OP 

CifK 



By using one of the angles to signify the first 
letter in each compartment, and dotting the 
same angle for the second, all the letters could 
be reproduced. 

The Captain gave Bobstay a most unseaman- 
like hug. 

‘ ‘How could you, how could a person think 
of it !” he said. 

“ ’T is an old trick, sir,” the mate responded. 
“Look’ee, now all *s plain sailing. Here ’s 
their mysterious writings for all to read: 
Land at a pointe before whyte scarre in rocke 

TWENTY PACES EASTE BY SOUTHE SIXTEEN PACES 

southe southe easte. And then dig, like 
enough. ’ ’ 


238 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“But, Ben,” the Captain objected, “there ’s 
nothing to tell what rock to land at. It might 
be anywhere.” 

“Upon my word, sir,” Bobstay agreed, 
“that ’s true! But look’ee, here *s another pa- 
per folded together with this one.” 

They opened it eagerly, but it was, to all ap- 
pearances, totally blank. As they turned it this 
way and that, hoping for a clue, there was a 
footstep on the rock, and Jim joined the adven- 
turers. He took in the situation at a glance. 

“Shiver my spare yard-arm!” said he. 
“What have we here? Treasure?” 

They explained the difficulty of the moment. 

“H’m,” said Jim. “It ? s not likely that 
they ’d seal up an empty paper. Mebbe ’t is 
writ with inwisible ink.” 

“A thought I was just thinkin’ myself,” Joan 
agreed. 

Garth, quite overcome by the thoroughness 
of this plot, grasped her ecstatically. Jim 
fished a box of matches from his pocket. 

“Ho you hang on to my shoulder, Captain 
Crosstrees, sir,” he commanded, “for a wind- 
shield, like, whilst I strike a light here.” 

He lit a match and held the paper over its 
flame. In a breathless and expectant silence he 


239 


TREASURE, HO! 

withdrew it, showing a small wavering line of 
brown upon the paper. Garth gave a tri- 
umphant shout. 

‘ 4 Splice my f oretopmast stu ’ns ’1 downhaul ! ’ ’ 
Jim remarked; “but something ’s happening !” 

Garth flung an appreciative glance at Joan 
and leaned eagerly over his father’s shoulder. 
The expenditure of seven or eight matches left 
the paper somewhat smoked, but bearing a per- 
fectly visible map, traced in faint brown. 

“There ’s your map, or I ’m a lubber/ ’ said 
Jim. “Well, I ’ll be off, sirs, and leave you 
to decipher it. ’T is drawed uncommon 
poorly,” he added, looking at Joan. 

“Have you ever tried to draw with inwisible 
ink?” she asked mildly. “Milk, mayhap, or 
such-like?” 

“Look’ee here, sir,” she said to Garth, when 
Jim had entered the lighthouse, “do you think 
likely this is meant for the bay wot the savages 
hereabout calls Pettasantuck?” 

“Like enough,” the Captain agreed, poring 
over the map ; “but what for would be all these 
little dots, Ben?” 

“This yere shoal, I takes it,” Bobstay pro- 
posed; “and whete the cross-mark is, there 
the treasure lies, I ’ll venture/’ 


240 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“And that ’s on Trasket Rock! And there 
is a white streak in the cliff on Trasket. Why 
didn’t I think of that right away! Pipe all 
hands aboard, Ben. We sail this afternoon!” 

The treasnre-hunters were ready to set forth 
soon after luncheon. They had gathered to- 
gether an outfit which included a compass, a 
steamer-rug (“to wrap up the doubloons in, I 
suppose,” said Jim, “for I can’t think what 
else you ’d need it for”), a lantern, a frying- 
pan, a jug of water, and assorted provisions. 

“ ‘I Ve a little brown jug that I sometimes lug, 
And a little bread and meat for ballast . . ” 

sang Jim, as he made sail on the Ailouros* 

“You ’ll have an easy run up to Trasket to- 
day,” he said; “and I place such trust in you 
and your seamanship, Bo ’sun Bobstay, ma’am, 
that I ’ve no fears that you ’ll wreck, maroon, 
cast away, or lose overboard my only son.” 

“No fear, sir!” laughed Joan, as she took 
command of the Ailouros, and Jim climbed out 
upon the landing. 

“We sha’n’t expect you back till after sup- 
per, then,” he said. “Caleb ’s off on his week- 
end ashore, so don’t do anything that will ne- 


241 


TREASURE, HO! 

cessitate my rescuing you! I can’t leave the 
Light after dark, you know, except to save 
drowning mariners.” 

‘ i Good luck to you ! ’ 9 Elspeth cried, as she and 
Jim watched the Ailouros bob into the current 
and then fill away steadily. 

Garth steered and Joan handled the sheet, 
and they talked about treasure. 

“What was the tales of the Cardiff you could 
tell, mate?” Captain Crosstrees asked, squint- 
ing a little as he watched the sunlit head of the 
sail. 

“Oh, naught of great account,” Ben Bobstay 
said, after some consideration, “ ’cept that I 
knows the Cardiff. I dealt wi’ her an’ wi’ her 
blackhearted captain afore ever I signed wi’ 
you, sir. Why, I shipped as cabin-boy on the 
Cardiff. The year 1739 it were, long afore you 
was thort of, sir. She were little better nor a 
pirate, though little I knew o’ that when I 
signed aboard her. I couldn’t tell you harf 
o’ the evil doin’s upon that ship, but many was 
the day when I lay flat behind a hatch-coaming, 
whilst the bullets hopped around me and the 
cutlasses sang past my ears. For the Cardiff 
would be grappled to some honest India-man, 
and the rivers of gold and treasures, sir, that 


242 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


poured into the black ship’s hold was as great 
as the rivers of blood that poured off her 
decks. ’ ’ 

The Captain gave a pleasurable shiver. 

“Like enough,” he observed, “ ’t is some o’ 
that treasure we ’re after now?” 

“Like enough,” Bobstay agreed; “there was 
a deal of it. Felipe Astores, the captain’s 
name was — a treacherous Spaniard he were. 
And his fate and the fate of his black ship came 
as he deserved.” 

“How?” said Garth, detaching his eyes from 
the sail to gaze in admiring worship at his tal- 
ented shipmate. The narrator reflected. 

“Well,” she continued, “ ’t were one night 
when the Captain had buried some treasures — 
as black as a pot it wos, sir — that he must needs 
have a feast to his own glory. And the rum 
went pretty free, sir, till by the end there was 
none could rightly manage a ship aboard her. 
Them in the cabin was at their worst, and me 
still serving of them, frighted of my life so I 
dared not refuse, when the watch sings out, 
‘Breakers ahead!’ Mr. Branton, the mate, and 
two others staggers up on deck, but the orders 
they gave wos half-crazed, and the men knew 
not which to obey.” 


TREASURE, HO! 243 

Bobstay warmed to the tale and pointed the- 
atrically landward. 

“Right afore us was the white combers danc- 
ing on the shoal, and on the Reef towering 
spouts of water was rising over the rocks. 
Some of the crew was trying like madmen to 
get the sail off o’ the Cardiff, and some flingin’ 
the wheel this way and that, till the compass 
under the binnacle-lamp whirled like a thing 
daft. . . . She ’s too high, sir,” Ben inter- 
rupted the tale suddenly, for Garth’s own 
steering was showing signs of daftness. He 
let the boat fall off, and his companion pro- 
ceeded : 

“But they w T as too late. She took the reef 
all standing and come up listed heavy, sobbing 
and shuddering like a living thing every time 
the breakers pounded her. But I ’d no pity for 
her. She were as evil as her master, the Car- 
diff. Lucky enough for me, I, bein’ light and 
nimble, got me ashore by holding to a spar; 
but what become of all else, I know not, for I 
never saw them again, dead or living, for which 
I were full o’ thanks.” 

Garth gave an appreciative sigh. 

“Was it these parts she was wrecked in, 
Ben?” he inquired. “Like enough it might 


244 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

have been her ghost I saw that day up by Tras- 
ket.” 

“Like enough/ ’ Bobstay agreed. 

“Your sheet ’s awfully flat, Jo — Ben,” the 
Captain commented. 

Joan looked rather abashed and eased the 
sheet a little. 

“You ’re right, sir,” she said; “the water ’s 
a bit rougher nor it were.” And she attended 
to the handling of the boat in silence. 

The waves were fresh and choppy, running 
in a rough tumble of indigo along the sides of 
the Ailouros and smacking her bows with a 
splash of twinkling spray. 

“It ’s scrumptious!” said Garth, who had 
taken both hands to the tiller. i ‘ I love it when 
it ’s like this.” 

“Let ’s go on toward Hy Brasail,” Joan sug- 
gested, “and run back before the wind. It ’s 
still very early, and it ’s not proper to dig treas- 
ure before midnight, anyway. We ’ll have to 
do it before then, I fear, but we ’ve time for a 
longer sail.” 

‘ ‘ Hurrah ! ’ ’ cried Garth. ‘ i Let ’s ! ” 


CHAPTER XXII 


REAL ADVENTURES 

T HEY left Trasket Rock far astern, and Hy 
Brasail rose on the weather bow. The 
wind, which had been blowing roundly, fresh- 
ened and grew more squally. The blue of the 
sea outside darkened quickly. 

“I think we ’d better go about and get back 
to Trasket,” said Joan; “I ’m sorry we came 
so much further. You ’d better give me the 
tiller, Garth.” 

He surrendered it to her, and she paid the 
boat off and went about with comparative ease. 
The Ailouros was now running free before the 
wind, diving into seas which grew larger every 
minute. The little skiff bobbed and twirled 
astern, frightened and unwilling. The expres- 
sion of Joan’s face was far from confident. 
Spray spattered over the weathercoaming of 
the boat, and broken water flew along her side 
as she heeled. She thrust her nose into a wave, 
and, as she was trying to struggle free, another 
caught her full on the quarter. She broached 

245 


246 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

to, yawing wildly as the rudder was lifted clear 
of the water. Then the sail jibed. The boom 
struck Garth on the side of his head and sent 
him sprawling. 

Joan had presence of mind enough to realize 
that she must attend to the boat even before she 
could find out whether or not Garth was killed. 
In a sort of numb frenzy she lowered away the 
sail and hauled up the center-board. It seemed 
to her that she moved with the dreadful slow- 
ness of a dream. Released, the Ailouros spun 
around in the seas, rolling as lightly as a cork. 
Garth was sitting up when Joan staggered back 
from the halyards. 

4 4 That hurt my knee, rather/ ’ he said, rub- 
bing it cautiously. 

4 4 Your knee!” said Joan shakily. 4 4 Didn’t 
it hurt your head ?” 

“It was rather buzzy and black for a min- 
ute/ ’ he said, 44 but the boom didn’t come over 
very hard.” 

Fortunately it had not, nor had it struck him 
on the temple. 

4 4 What are you going to do, — double-reef and 
try again?” he asked, leaning back against the 
center-board case. He was rather pale under 
his tan. 


REAL ADVENTURES 247 

“Do yon think I ’d better t” Joan asked. 

“1 don’t know,” he said; “you know heaps 
more about sailing than I do. But we can’t stay 
here, ezackly. Dear knows when this ’ll blow 
over. ’ ’ 

Joan soaked her handkerchief in sea-water 
and tied it around Garth’s forehead. She also 
put a sweater behind his head. 

“You ’d better sit there for a while,” she 
said. “I must think what to do.” 

She decided finally to try again, as the wind 
seemed to be slackening a little. She was not 
an expert in reefing a sail, and expended a great 
deal of time and strength on the process. She 
hoisted the sail and tied the reef-points as best 
she could ; then set up the throat and peak, and 
lowered the center-board. She scrambled aft 
and seized the tiller, as the Ailouros gathered 
way and scudded off like a hound whose leash is 
slipped. All went merrily for a time, though 
Joan’s face remained set in rather strained 
lines. Trasket Rock was drawing steadily 
nearer on the lee bow, when the Ailouros sud- 
denly dove into a bigger sea than had come for 
some little while. She swung up as Joan eased 
the tiller, and then the sail tried to jibe again. 
Joan flung the helm over and checked it, but 


248 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


her action was a little too violent. The strain 
jerked one pintle out, and the rudder floated 
up on its side. Joan sprang for the halyards 
again and got the sail down, while Garth 
achieved a sort of flying leap to unship the rud- 
der. But it was entirely too much for him; a 
big wave swept both it and the tiller out from 
under his hand and whirled them away. Joan 
secured the boom ; then sat down silently. She 
felt utterly dismayed. Garth was struggling 
with an oar. 

“You ’re not going to sit there, are you?” he 
said. “The first thing you know, we ’ll be 
drifted past Trasket, and then we ’ll never get 
her back.” 

“Wouldn’t it be better to let her drift?” 
asked Joan. “In time she ’d go almost home.” 

“But we don ’t want to go home ! ’ ’ Garth said ; 
“we want to seek for the treasure. Help me 
get out this oar, Joan. We ’ll have to rig it up 
for a steering-paddle.” 

Joan reflected that, after all, it might be safer 
to land on Trasket Rock while they could and 
wait for the squall to blow itself entirely out. 
She rigged the oar and lashed it. Garth held 
it in position while she wearily hoisted the sail 
once more, and the Ailouros lurched off, the 


REAL ADVENTURES 249 

wind abeam. Trasket Rock was not far dis- 
tant, and the tide was helping. 

“We ’ll have to work around to the other 
side,” Joan said; “we can’t land here.” 

“Then we ’d better go around this end,” 
Garth said. “Oh! There’s the rudder! 
Give her all she ’ll stand Joan! If we don’t 
catch it now, it ’ll go past the end of Trasket, 
and then it will be gone ! ’ ’ 

They leaned forward breathlessly, while the 
rudder bobbed contentedly ahead of them, 
creeping every moment nearer the outstanding 
rocks where the current swept past Trasket. 

“Now!” shouted Garth. 

“I ’ll get it!” cried Joan. “Don’t, Garth — 
you ’ll go overboard! Hold the oar steady!” 

She snatched at the rudder, caught the end of 
the tiller, and with a terrific effort pulled it in 
over the side. Her arms were wet to the shoul- 
der, but there was a wild light of triumph in 
her eyes. 

“At any rate,” she said, “I feel a little hap- 
pier about our getting home to-night!” 

The current had taken the Ailouros around 
the end of Trasket Rock, and by dint of careful 
steering Joan brought her into moderately calm 
water and prepared to let go the anchor. She 


250 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

was uncertain how much scope to give the cable, 
but she judged the water to be not over two 
fathoms. Garth lowered away on the throat 
halyards, and when he released the peak, the 
sail got away from him and came down with a 
run, nearly smothering Joan, whom it envel- 
oped. He was much ashamed of his poor sea- 
mandship although Joan assured him that it 
was lack of muscle, not of knowledge, that had 
caused it. He helped her contritely while she 
stowed the sail and lashed the boom. The 
transfer from the catboat to the skiff was at- 
tended by some anxiety, but Garth suddenly ex- 
hibited a surprising steadiness, and Joan landed 
him and the various supplies on Trasket Rock 
without mishap. Then she sat down upon the 
little strip of sand at the fookof the rocks and 
put her head in her hands. Garth, who was al- 
ready consulting the compass, looked up and 
saw her ; then came to where she sat. 

“What ’s the matter V’ he said. “Why, 
Joan ! You weren’t frightened , were you! 
Why, I ’ve been out in lots worse ones with 
Fogger.” 

“Yes,” said Joan weakly, “but being ‘out 
with Fogger’ is a very, very different thing 


REAL ADVENTURES 251 

from being out with me. I — I think I need to 
hug you awfully tight. ’ ’ 

“And now for the treasure, mate!” said 
Garth blithely. 

She raised her head and looked up at him, 
silhouetted against the sky. Her handkerchief 
was still bound about his forehead in a fashion 
truly piratical ; an eager expectancy shone in his 
eyes. She pulled herself together and smiled. 

“Stay you here, Captain,” she advised in 
Ben Bobstay’s peculiar voice, “whilst I scout 
ahead a bit. There ’s no telling the savages 
there may be here, nor the beasts. Stay you 
and stand guard over the camp till I come 
back.” 

She gathered up the steamer-rug, which 
seemed suspiciously bulky, and marched off up 
the beach. 

“Is your cutlass loose in the scabbard?” 
Garth called after her. 

“Ay, ay, sir, that it is!” cried Joan, as she 
vanished around the projecting rocks. 

Trasket was even smaller than Hy Brasail, 
and no flowers brightened its rough coat of sod. 
The bluff did not rise straight from the beach, 
but sloped gently, the sand meeting the thick, 


252 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


ragged turf. The streak of white quartz, re- 
ferred to by Felipe Astores* chart, was hidden 
from the place where Joan and Garth landed. 
It lay on the south end of the islet. 

When J oan returned, Garth was stretched out 
upon the sand, resting from the hardships of 
the voyage. 

“All ’s well, sir,” Joan told him. “No sign 
of a living thing, and if I hn not mistook, I ? 11 
wenture I sighted the 1 whyte scarre* wot the 
chart speaks of.” 

“Well done!” commended the Captain. 
“Give me a hand up, Ben, please.” 

She gave him two, and they set off over the 
shingle, till, sure enough, the white quartz 
streak gleamed around the jutting rock. 

“I takes it they means twenty paces East by 
South from this yere rock that stands at high- 
water mark,” Bobstay hazarded. 

She drew a line on the sand in the direction 
indicated by the compass and proceeded to pace 
off the distance. Garth was measuring it me- 
thodically for himself, with very careful and 
sadly uneven strides. They brought him to a 
quite different place than Joan, but he stuck to 
his own course, and they both turned and headed 
off South South East. 


BEAL ADVENTURES 253 

“Fourteen — fifteen — sixteen,” counted Joan, 
stopping in a place where the soft sand ran in 
between two rocks. “Here we are, sir.” 

“Fourteen — fif-teen — s^-teen,” said Garth, 
gazing earnestly at the ground and making his 
last careful step. He stood on a grassy hum- 
mock and looked across at Joan. 

“Ben, I r m going to dig here,” he said. 
“Like enough there ’s treasure.” 

“You ’d best come over here, sir; I Ve meas- 
ured it up dead right,” the Bo’sun assured him. 

“It depends on the kind of steps you take,” 
the Captain contended. “You try there, too. 
Heave me the spade, matey. You can dig there 
easily with a clam-shell, but this earth is hard. ’ 1 

Bobstay hove him the spade, which was noth- 
ing more nor less than a garden-trowel. Silver 
Shoal, having no use for a shovel, possessed 
none. The trowel was used to cultivate the 
“informal garden,” when not digging treasure. 
Silence fell, while Garth dug vigorously in the 
earth and Joan leisurely did the same in the 
sand. 

“Jumping cuttle-fish!” she cried suddenly. 
“Come here, Cap hi Crosstrees, sir!” 

Garth promptly dropped the trowel, rolled 
down the gentle bank, and sat up beside her. 


254 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“Wot would you say that wos, sir?” she in- 
quired. 

The Captain dove a sturdy arm into the hole. 

“Blast my buttons!” he said vehemently. 
“ ’Tis the edge of a box!” 

He really had not suspected the steamer- 
rug ’s curious proportions in the least, and his 
enthusiasm for Joan’s inventive resources and 
for the treasure-hunt flamed even higher. 

“Dig, man!” he cried, occupying the entire 
hole himself. “ ’Tis the doubloons!” 

The sand flew violently, and in a short time 
the chest was so much uncovered that Joan 
could lift it out. It proved to be a small, stout 
box, salvaged from the beach, where it had 
become as much weathered as the most ancient 
of pirate chests. It had a hinged lid, whereon 
was inscribed in bold, black letters: 

CARDIFFE : 1732 : X. J.X. 

In the corner a skull and cross-bones was 
blazoned, with “F. A.” beneath it. 

“Aha!” muttered Bobstay. “Felipe As- 
tores! That ’s his black mark, right enough.” 

Garth fumbled at the hasp and flung open 
the lid. 

“The dogs!” growled the Bo ’sun, peering 


REAL ADVENTURES 255 

within. “Some’un ’s been here afore ns and 
cleaned up the lot.” 

“No, they have n’t !” the Captain cried. 
“Look’ee, here’s something in the corner! 
Ben, our fortunes is made!” 

In the depths of the box were quite a number 
of things — three silver buttons, a little brooch, 
a buckle, a Mexican peso (date, 1906), Joan’s 
filigree watch-chain, and a most exciting heap 
of tin washers. Garth rattled them through his 
fingers. 

‘ ‘ Pieces of eight ! ” he said dramatically, * ‘ and 
doubloons ! Look ’ee ! ’ ’ 

Joan lifted the watch-chain. 

“And like enough the black villain tore this 
from some lady’s neck,” she observed. 

“Like enough!” the Captain agreed, with a 
twinkle. 

When every detail of the chest had been in- 
spected and admired, the doubloons were 
counted and stacked up again. 

“Let ’s dig at my hole a little more,” Garth 
suggested, “just for fun.” 

The crutches having remained at the top of 
the bank when Garth rolled down it, he made 
the short ascent on hands and knees and 


256 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


sprawled beside the hole. He attacked it again 
vigorously, and the trowel clinked against some- 
thing which did not sound like a stone. 

“And it isn’t a stone !” Garth shouted, 
throwing the trowel down. “I can get my hand 
under it, and it ’ s a queer shape ! Was there 
anything here, Joan? Anything more?” 

“On my honor, no,” said Joan, running up. 

“Dig it - away with your fingers,” he com- 
manded. “ I y m afraid of breaking it, if I pull. ’ ’ 

They scooped the earth away from under the 
thing, coaxed and urged and pulled gently, until 
they got it out. 

“What is it?” Joan wondered. Then, both 
at once, they saw what it was, or had been. 

It was the hilt of a broad-sword, corroded 
frostily green. Six inches of blade remained, 
crumbling with rust. Garth gazed at it, his 
face lit with a sort of grave ecstasy. 

“I ’d much rather find that,” he said soberly, 
“than boxes and boxes of real doubloons. It ’s 
— it ’s more exciting, somehow. I don’t mean 
zackly that — I don’t know how to say it. But — 
it might have done so many things. It — it 
might have belonged to a sea-captain!” 

He grasped it suddenly in a brown fist and 
held it aloft exultantly. 



He held it aloft exultantly 


















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CHAPTER XXIII 

“we BE TWO POORE MARINERS” 

T HE wind had dropped suddenly, though 
the sea continued heavy, and the faint air 
that stirred was very soft and warm, with now 
and then a sweet, inland smell. The Ailouros 
still lay safely at anchor, but Joan pulled the 
skiff farther up the sand, for the tide was rising. 
She collected the supper-things and carried 
them back to the place where the treasure had 
been discovered. The sun hung low in the haze 
above the mainland, a great flat disk of copper. 

“Like a big doubloon,” Garth said, looking 
up at it from the fire he was laying. He bal- 
anced another chip on the crumpled paper, and 
Joan struck a match. The little flames licked 
up the paper in one burst, and a thin line of 
smoke wavered up against the yellow sky. 

“It ’ll go, now,” Garth said; “it ’s started 
among the wood. Don’t put on such a big piece 
yet.” 

He built the wind-break higher, and the flames 
257 


258 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


leaped merrily through the driftwood, crack- 
ling as they twisted and flung themselves up- 
ward. 

Garth brought out the pan, and Joan filled 
it from the brown jug. 

“A pannikin of rum, mate,” he murmured, as 
the water chugged out. 

“Ay, to be sure, sir,” said Joan, thrusting 
the pan into the fire. 

She intended to make some soup from bouil- 
lon cubes, an innovation at Pemberley picnics. 
Holding the pan over the flames without cook- 
ing the hand which held it proved to be a diffi- 
cult matter. The mariners took very short 
shifts at it, crouching to windward and prop- 
ping the handle on a stone. The water boiled 
with the surprising suddenness of bonfire cook- 
ery, and Joan withdrew her toasted fingers, 
balanced the pan on a rock, and triumphantly 
made the soup. It was the hottest soup that 
either of them had ever tried to taste, and they 
were obliged to eat sandwiches and look at the 
sunset, while it cooled. 

“It ’s nice being out here at such a queer 
time,” said Garth. “I never was before. We 
always have to go home, because of the Light. 
We ’ve had a rare exciting adventure, haven’t 


WE BE TOO POORE MARINERS 259 

we, Ben?” he added, stirring the soup hope- 
fully. 

“The first part of it was a little too exciting,” 
Joan said. ‘‘I didn’t enjoy it. How ’s your 
head, by the way?” 

Garth felt it carefully. 

“There ’s rather a bump,” he said, “but it 
feels all right. It was exciting about the sword. 
Really and truly, didn’t you know it was 
there?” 

“Absolutely, I did not,” she testified. 

“Think of it ’s being just where I started 
to dig, ’ ’ Garth mused. “ It ’s wonderful. How 
do you suppose it got there?” 

“That I don’t know,” Joan replied. “It ’s 
evidently been under ground for a long time, 
and it ’s an old sword, too. Some explorer or 
adventurer must have dropped it, though I can’t 
see why he ’d want to explore Trasket Rock. 

“Like enough it belonged to one o’ the Car- 
diff’s crew,” Garth proposed. 

“Like enough!” Joan agreed. 

Twilight began to fall as they finished sup- 
per, and here and there lamps shone out on 
shore from scattered farms. Down the coast 
a Light seemed to rise quietly from the water. 
It bloomed palely out of the dusk, like a moon- 


260 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

flower opening with the first night-dews, 
“I never saw it from far away, like this, be- 
fore, ’ ’ said Garth. ‘ ‘ I think it ’s watching us. ’ ’ 
He leaned back against Joan’s shoulder. 
“Do you know,” he said, “sometimes I get 
to thinking about it in the middle of the night. 
That is, I did when I was little* because I used 
to wake up and not be able to go to sleep again. 
It ’b such a kind, lonely sort of thing. Just 
shining and shining up there, all alone, all night 
long. ’ ’ 

“Long ago,” he said, after a little pause, “I 
used to think that the moon must be angry, be- 
cause the Light was so much brighter, and I re- 
member perfickly well that I cried about it one 
night, because I didn’t want anything to be 
angry with our Light. It was awfully silly of 
me, I think. Mudder heard me, and she came 
in and told me that the moon was so far away 
she could n’t even see the Light, and that all the 
little stars thought it was one of them. So I 
did n’t mind any more. But I was silly.” 

“I don’t think you were,” Joan said. “I 
should n’t want anything to be angry with such 
a nice Light, either. Oh, how lovely it is here ! ’ ’ 
They sat gazing at the deepening twilight 
and the gathering of the stars, until Joan un- 


WE BE TOO POORE MARINERS 261 

willingly consulted her watch. She sprang to 
her feet, crying : 

“ ’T is' six hells in the second dog-watch! 
We must be stirring, if we ’re to fetch port at 
eight bells. There ’s little wind and a middling 
great sea ; we ’ll be bobbing like a pease-cod and 
no headway to speak of.” 

“Oh, dear!” sighed the Captain. “I ’d like 
to stay and stay. Oh, it ’s nice! Look at the 
red light around the point,— that ’s another 
lighthouse,— and the stars beginning to shine.” 

He stood looking up at them for a moment, 
and then followed Joan. 

“Leave your cutlass ready to your hand, 
Ben,” he advised, “and keep an eye out. The 
night ’s going to he as black as— as a pot.” 

Joan flourished the hilt of the broad-sword. 

“ ’Tis naked in my fist, sir!” she cried. 
“There ’s naught can take me by surprise.” 
But she did not know what lay in store for her. 

They walked toward the cove where the boat 
was moored. Garth stumbled a good deal in 
the half-light, for Joan, straining to catch a 
glimpse of the Ailouros, walked faster than she 
realized. 

i 1 1 know she ’s anchored just off that big rock 
that juts out,” Joan said. “Why, it ’s ndicu- 


262 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


lous that we can’t see her yet ; she ought to show 
plainly, she ’s so white. I can see the skiff, 
but — ” 

She peered and frowned; then broke into a 
run. Garth, coming up, found her standing 
motionless, gating dumbly at the empty 
cove. 

‘ 4 She ’s gone,” Joan said faintly; ‘ ‘ dragged 
her anchor and gone ! Oh, why didn’t I give 
her more cable? Good Heavens, the tide was 
rising, too ! I suppose she simply went without 
any trouble.” 

“Then we ’ll have to spend the night here!” 
Garth said, in joyous anticipation. 

“You stay here, Garth,” Joan said queerly; 
“stay by the skiff. I ’m going all around Tras- 
ket to see if she ’s anywhere in sight.” 

She set off at a run over the sand. A tour 
of the island gave no sign of the strayed boat, 
and she returned slowly to Garth. She shook 
her head in response to his question. 

‘ ‘ Then we ’ll have to stay ! ” he cried. ‘ ‘ Hur- 
rah! Unless you want to row down in the 
Cymba?” 

“No!” said Joan, decidedly. “It ’s a long 
way ; we ’ve no lantern now ; it will soon be 
totally dark ; the waves are still high ; the skiff 


WE BE TOO POORE MARINERS 263 


is very small; and you can’t swim. No!” 

She sat down gloomily upon the sand. 

4 ‘I ’ve lost the Ailouros,” she said dully, 

4 4 your father’s beautiful boat. Do you realize 
that! I Ve not distinguished myself to-day. 
I went on beyond Trasket when I saw that the 
wind was freshening. I jibed and nearly killed 
you. I lost the rudder. I have — lost — the 
Ailouros.” 

She put her hands to her forehead in bitter 
self-accusation. Garth flung his arms about 
her neck. 

4 4 Oh, don’t, Joan!” he begged. 4 4 Don’t be 
silly. None of it was your fault. Lots of peo- 
ple jibe when they don’t mean to. And the 
Ailouros isn’t lost, either. Look at the tide; 
she couldn’t possibly go out. Somebody’ll 
pick her up, or her anchor will stick. Come on 
back to the fire. Now it is a real adventure! 
Don’t feel so badly, Joan.” 

They went slowly back to the fire and piled 
more wood on the embers. 

4 4 What a lark!” Garth observed, nearly ex- 
ploding with gleeful excitement. 

44 You incorrigible optimist !” Joan said, shak- 
ing her head. 

44 I ’m not!” Garth protested hotly. 44 Look, 


264 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


it ’s a good thing we did bring that rug that 
Fogger laughed at so.” 

“ Fortunately, it ’s a very warm night,” Joan 
said thankfully; “and we ’ve our sweaters, too. 
Don’t you think your father will come for us?” 
she asked, feeding the new flames. 

“Of course he won’t,” Garth replied cheer- 
fully. “He ’s not allowed to leave the Light. 
He ’d never let Mudder row out alone, I ’m sure. 
Oh, he ’ll know perfickly well we just decided 
to stay, or something.” 

“I ’m sure I hope so. I suppose if he thought 
we ’d capsized in that squall, he ’d have come 
to find out.” 

‘ ‘ Goodness, yes ! That was ages ago, ’ ’ Garth 
said. “Joan, I ’m not going to bed for hours 
and hours.” 

“It ’s past your bedtime now,” Joan re- 
minded him. “I ’ll tell you what we ’ll do. 
You can curl up in the steamer-rug, and we ’ll 
talk for a while. Then I ’ll stand the first night- 
watch. Just take off your shoes and you ’ll be 
all ready to go to sleep.” 

i ‘ What fun ! ’ ’ Garth said. 1 ‘ Sleeping in our 
clothes, just like shipwrecked seamen. Please 
untie this for me, Joan.” 


WE BE TOO POORE MARINERS 265 


He was straggling with a knot in the lacing 
which fastened his brace. 

“Why do things get in such knots V 9 he won- 
dered, as Joan set about untangling it. “It al- 
ways starts out by being a perfickly plain bow, 
and just look at it now ! Salt-watery knots al- 
ways stick so tight, too. Thank you awfully. 
You needn’t bother with the strap; I can do 
that myself.’ ’ 

She did it, however, and helped him off with 
the brace, which was a good deal heavier than 
she had imagined. She tucked him up in the 
big rug and mended the fire. As she poked it, 
the embers sent up a little swarm of orange 
sparks against the pallid stars. 

“I wish you ’d say that poem again,— the 
one about the poor merman,” Garth suggested. 
“I liked that.” 

So Joan said it from beginning to end, while 
the sea murmured along the beach and a soft 
land-breeze made the fire sway and waver. 

But, children, at midnight, 

When soft the winds blow, 

When clear falls the moonlight, 

When spring-tides are low ; 

When sweet airs come seaward 
From heaths starred with broom, 


266 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


And high rocks throw mildly 
On the blanch’d sands a gloom; 

Up the still, glistening beaches, 

Up the creeks we will hie, 

Over banks of bright seaweed 
The ebb-tide leaves dry. 

We will gaze, from the sand-hills, 

At the white, sleeping town ; 

At the church on the hill-side — 

And then come back down. 

Singing : ‘ ‘ There dwells a loved one, 

But cruel is she! 

She left lonely forever 
The kings of the sea.” 

“It ’s like that now,” Garth said. “I won- 
der if they ’re doing it to-night, standing on 
the dunes and looking at the town . ’ 1 

“Perhaps they are,” said Joan, “though I 
think that it happened a long time ago.” 

“I wish we had Fogger’s green book here,” 
Garth said ; ‘ 1 though it 9 8 too dark to read, even 
by the firelight.” 

“I think that I could say one of those poems,” 
said Joan rather diffidently. “I learned some 
of them. Your father writes such splendid 
ones.” 

“Oh, do say them, then! You ’re so nice, 
Joan; you don’t need to carry books around 
with you all the time.” 


WE BE TOO POORE MARINERS 267 


“Here *s one that you like,” said Joan. 

Home from the back of the world she came, 

And none that could say her nay; 

With her truck in the clouds, 

And the wind in her shrouds, 

And her fore-foot smothered in spray. 

But she has been to the magic seas ; 

She has seen Dorado rise; 

And sailed all night 

In the throbbing light 

Of the star-shot Southern skies. 

Sedate she lies at the master’s wharf, 

With her wind- worn canvas furled; 

But she ’s faint for a breeze 

From the purple seas 

On the other side of the world. 

Home from the ends of the earth she came,— 

But there ’s none that can bid her stay ; 

And you ’ll wake in the dawn 
To find her gone, 

With the sea- wind leading the way ! 

The fire glowed and waned and shot up again 
fitfully. It flecked the creeping foam at the 
edge of the sand with a faint rosy gleam which 
melted beyond into the infinite darkness of un- 
seen water. Garth looked out over the mur- 


268 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


muring spaces to where the steady glimmer of 
Silver Shoal made a tiny nimbus in the night. 

‘ ‘ It will watch us all the time, ’ * he whispered, 
‘ ‘ while — we *re — ” 

“ While we *re asleep / 9 said Joan; “ which 
you are now.” 

She tucked the rug around him. 

4 ‘Rouse me up for — my watch, — Ben — ” he 
said drowsily. 

“Ay, ay!” she smiled, bending to kiss him. 

‘ ‘ Good-night, dear person . 9 9 

But he was asleep. 




CHAPTER XXIV 


STAR-SET AND SUNRISE 

J OAN sat down before the beach-fire and 
gazed into its embers. The charm of the 
verses, which still ran through her mind, had 
not made her forget the Ailouros. She had lost 
it, a beautiful and precious thing. In miserable 
imagination she pictured its fate. She saw the 
poor frightened boat tossed rudderless in the 
open sea, harried and driven, wandering deso- 
late through the outer night, a helpless mast 
swinging across the pitiless stars. She saw the 
broken hull tossed upon the rocks, battered, 
splintered, crushed by the Reef. She saw it 
floating bottom up far from land, with gulls 
wheeling and shrieking above it. 

Joan wondered how she could face Jim, how 
she could bear to meet Elspeth's eyes. They 
would never trust her again, and she did not 
deserve to be trusted. She remembered Jim's 
half -joking words about “ wrecking, marooning, 
or losing overboard" his only son, and her own 

269 


270 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


laughing reply. She bowed her head in new 
shame. She had deliberately gone on beyond 
Trasket Rock, where they could have made a 
safe and easy landing before the squall struck. 
She had sailed on, with so much bravado, such 
blind confidence in her knowledge of handling 
a boat. Her confidence was gone. 

She began to call up more agonizing pictures 
with which to torment herself. If the boom 
had struck Garth at the end of the jibe, instead 
of at the beginning when it had barely gathered 
way ; if it had swept him overboard ; if the boat 
had capsized, which might well have happened ! 
She thought out at unnecessary length and de- 
tail what she could have done under all these 
circumstances, and grew more and more 
wretched. For faint consolation she remem- 
bered the treasure then, and the miraculous 
finding of the sword-hilt. And, perhaps be- 
cause imagination was more or less concerned 
with this particular train of thought, Mr. Rob- 
ert Sinclair came to mind. It was by no means 
the first time she had thought of him since her 
arrival at the lighthouse, and each time she did 
so she regretted more and more her rude, un- 
pleasant answers to him. She wished now, with 
all her heart, that she had listened to what he 


STAB-SET AND SUNEISE 


271 


had tried to tell her about the poor little news- 
boy. She wished, too, that he could know 
Garth. 

4 ‘ Though he could n ’t love him more than I 
do,” Joan reflected; “no one could.” 

Then, with quick humiliation, she remembered 
a time when Garth had tried to do something 
beyond his power and had fallen. Jim caught 
him as he fell, before Elspeth reached him, and 
in their faces had been a love so deep that J oan 
could hardly understand it, and had felt distant, 
awed, before it. Yet she had just said that no 
one could love him more than she ! 

She raised her head and looked out into the 
night. There was no sound but the rushing and 
dying of waves among the pebbles and the crack 
of falling embers. Overhead the stars marched 
and burned in voiceless splendor, and low on the 
horizon the Light held out its clear sea-candle, 
steadfast and calm and pale. 

Joan turned away from the fire, and looked 
at Garth. The firelight reached him faintly, 
setting a glimmer on the hair about his fore- 
head and flickering down the clean line of his 
cheek. The hilt of the broad-sword, gleaming 
dully green, lay almost within the grasp of his 
outflung hand. Behind him the ragged crest 


272 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

of Trasket Rock rose frowning against the 
stars. 

Joan built the fire high, for the wind was 
cooler, and lay down beside Garth under the 
rug. She put her cheek close to his, and a few 
tears slipped from her eyes. For she had gone 
through some very unhappy hours, and then, 
too, she did love Garth even more than she 
realized. Strangely enough, the tears made her 
feel much happier, and she fell asleep with her 
face to the great open sky and Garths arm flung 
across her. 

In the uncharted hours of night, Joan woke 
and knew somehow that Garth was awake, too. 
She moved a very little, and the faintest of 
whispers breathed: 

“Are you asleep?” 

“No.” 

“Did you ever see so many stars? I never 
did,” he said. “I wonder why everybody 
doesn’t sleep out-of-doors all the time.” 

He cuddled very close to her. 

“Do you know about stars?” he asked. 
“Tell me all their names and everything you 
know. ’ ’ 

“I ’m afraid I don’t know many of them,” 


STAR-SET AND SUNRISE 273 


she said. “ There ’s Draco, the Dragon.’ ’ 
They talked in low voices as they gazed straight 
np at the sky. 

“I can see the Dipper, of course,” said Garth, 
“and the Pole Star; and what ’s that awfully 
bright one over in the Milky Way?” 

“Altair,” said Joan. “There ’s Corona, do 
you see? Six stars in a circle, like a crown; 
and Auriga, there on the horizon?” 

“What were the ones in Fogger’s poem?” 
Garth asked. “You know, the one about the 
lighthouse.” 

“The one where the Light speaks? I can’t 
remember much of it. Something about— 

I wake with other stars, and keep 
A vigil all night long. 

With Cepheus, and Gemini, 

And Aldebaran over me. 

“Isn’t it? You can’t see them all together 
at this time of year. Gemini has set, and Al- 
debaran ’s a winter star, I think. But there ’s 
Cepheus, almost over us. And of course Do- 
rado, in the other poem, we can never see up 
North at all.” 

A point of light suddenly detached itself from 
the black sky and shot between the other stars, 


274 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


leaving for an instant a wispy, nebulous trail. 

“A shooting star!” whispered Garth. “I 
wonder where it went.” 

“It is rather queer, isn’t it,” said Joan 
dreamily, “to think that some of them are so far 
away that their light does n’t reach us for hun- 
dreds — of thousands — of years.” 

“What do you mean?” Garth asked. 

1 ‘ Some of them may have stopped being stars. 
We ’re seeing them the way they looked ages 
ago, because the light of them has only just 
reached us. They may not be there at all. ’ ’ 

Her hushed voice lent the subject an added 
awe in the midnight silence. 

“What do you mean?” Garth repeated. 

“We don’t know anything about the way 
they really look now. Some of them are so 
far away that it takes all that time for their 
light to travel to the earth.” 

“I don’t like it,” Garth said, clasping her; 
“it sounds too queer. But I didn’t know that 
light went so slowly as that. I thought it went 
flash, so fast you didn’t know it.” 

“Well,” Joan said, “if I remember rightly, 
it goes one hundred and ninety thousand miles 
a second.” 


STAR-SET AND SUNRISE 275 


There was a silence, as immensity dawned 
dimly on Garth’s mind. Then he said slowly: 

“I ’m trying to think. Do you mean that 
some of the stars are so far away that it takes 
light, going that fast, a hundred thousand years 
to get to us?” 

“Yes,” Joan whispered. 

“Oh, don’t!” he said. “It makes me feel all 
queer and empty. Let ’s look at our Light. 
That ’s like a nice, near star. I don’t like 
things to be so far away as that.” 

They held each other’s hands and looked 
drowsily at the far lamp that burned above the 
water. 

“It ’s been there all the time,” murmured 
Garth, “and Fogger and Mudder — are — there, 
and everybody — in the world — is — asleep, ex- 
cept — us.” 

The ancient stars blazed on; the sea, almost 
as ancient, fingered the beach ceaselesly, creep- 
ing and falling back, and creeping again. But 
now, according to Garth’s notion, everybody in 
the world was asleep. 

When Joan woke again, she could not think 
what had happened. For there was no ceiling 
above her, nothing but flat, empty gray, and 


276 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

her hand, as she put it out, touched rough, cold 
sand. Garth was sitting up beside her, the end 
of the rug over his knees. 

“I ’ve been wishing and wishing you ’ d wake 
up,” he said, 1 1 because the sun ’s rising on the 
other side of the rock, and we can see it if we 
go on top.” 

They put on their shoes and flapped the sand 
out of their queerly wrinkled clothes. 

“It was so funny, waking up this morning,” 
Garth said, as Joan helped him up the rock. “I 
thought I ’d dreamed all that about the stars 
and everything, until I saw where I was. Oh, 
look at the sun!” 

It was rising straight from the sea, scattering 
banded clouds before it in great ranks of crim- 
son and flame-color. A strip of clear, hard 
amber lay along the horizon, and overhead the 
lifeless gray melted to faint rosiness and pale, 
liquid blue. 

“I always mean to wake up at home and see 
it,” said Garth, “but I hardly ever do. It ’s 
much more fun living on the beach this way.” 

“What if it rained?” Joan asked. 

“That would n't be very nice,” Garth mused; 
“but we could build a hut. Only then it would 
be just like living in a house again. Oh, dear !” 


STAB-SET AND SUNEISE 277 

They saw the lighthouse, down the coast, look- 
ing rather like a white sea-gull asleep on the 
water. The light had been extinguished. 

“I dare say Fogger will come for us before 
breakfast,” Garth said. “I wish he wouldn’t, 
except that I want something to eat. It ’ll take 
him ages to row out. Go up to that mountain- 
peak yonder, Ben, and take a look about with the 
spy-glass.” 

The spy-glass was an imaginary one, but the 
mountain existed, a higher shelf of rock too 
steep and rough for Garth to attempt. Joan 
sprang to the top and swept the horizon beneath 
a shading hand. 

“ Three-masted schooner out to sea, sir,” she 
reported, “bearing Noothe by East. And what 
would you make this yere vessel out ? ” She in- 
dicated a single sail flitting far off at the mouth 
of the bay. 

Garth got to his feet and looked down the 
coast. 

“I make her out the Ailouros, he said 
promptly. 

Joan’s face shadowed instantly. 

“Don’t,” she said; “it can’t be. The Ailou- 
ros is gone, goodness knows where. It ’s some 
one from Quimpaug.” 


278 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“The fishermen have power-boats,” Garth 
contested, “and no one else would be out so 
early. They ’re fresh-water lubbers at the ho- 
tel. Besides, I know the Ailouros just — just the 
way I know Fogger or anybody else. ’ ’ 

Joan shook her head and would not be con- 
soled nor convinced. They went back and lay 
on the dry sand, for dew still clung to the rough 
grass on the crest of Trasket Rock. They 
watched the shadows of the rocks spring out on 
the sand as the sun rose higher, the gulls that 
flashed screaming overhead — golden light on 
white wings, — the brightening green of distant 
fields as the mainland woke in the young day- 
light. They rummaged the picnic-basket finally 
and discovered two overlooked crackers, on 
which they pounced. 

“Hardtack, sir, but better ’n naught,” Joan 
observed, munching her share. “If we be 
stranded here long, we ’ll be put to it; birds ’- 
nesting and crab-catching for our fare, like 
enough. ’ ’ 

Then after a time the Ailouros, unmistakable 
now, came swinging in beside the beach, and Jim 
hove to and hailed them. Joan ran down to the 
water’s edge. 


STAR-SET AND SUNRISE 279 


“ Where, where did you find her?” she 
shouted. “Is she hurt?” 

“Who? The Ailourosf Not in the least. 
Are you all right?” Jim called. 

“Yes!” the castaways replied in chorus. 

Joan slung the jug, basket, and shawl into the 
skiff, bundled Garth into the stern sheets, and 
pushed off for the sail-boat. 

“Where was she?” Joan repeated eagerly, as 
Jim lifted his son aboard and held out a hand 
to her. 

“Well,” he said, “I went out on the gallery 
last evening at light-up time and took a look at 
Trasket with the glass. I saw the smoke of 
your fire and knew that you were there safe. 
Then my eyes happened to wander toward 
shore, and behold, the Ailouros nosing around 
Bird Rock. I went over in the dory and got 
her; she ’d caught her anchor in a ledge and 
was neatly moored. I found everything most 
shipshape, boom lashed, rudder unshipped, hal- 
yards belayed — ” 

“Don’t!” murmured Joan. 

“ So I saw at once what had happened. Stiff 
sea, not enough cable out, tide rising — ” Joan 
nodded miserably. 4 ‘ So, naturally, she dragged 


280 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


and went off with herself. Elspeth and I con- 
sulted. As the food and the rug were n’t in the 
boat, we assumed that you had them. The night 
was remarkably warm; we knew you ’d be too 
sensible to try to row down ; I could n ’t leave the 
Light in any case ; so we decided to let you stay. 
We thought you ’d enjoy yourselves thor- 
oughly. ’ ’ 

“Do you think I enjoyed myself/ ’ said Joan, 
“knowing that I ’d lost your boat?” 

“I told her it was all right,” Garth put in. 
4 4 She ’s been worrying awfully. ’ 9 

“I did a great many careless things,” said 
Joan rather wretchedly, and confessed to Jim 
the whole history of her ill-judged excursion. 
She did not dare to look at him and did not know 
what he was thinking. 

“ I admit,” he said gravely, when she had 
finished , 4 4 that I should n ’t have felt very happy 
if I ’d known you were out in that squall. I cal- 
culated that you ’d have reached Trasket a good 
half hour before it came up. I ’m sorry that 
you had such a stiff time, but, on the whole, I 
think that you must have managed rather well 
not to have had her over.” 

“I ’ll never sail again,” said Joan. 

4 4 That ’s no way to feel, ’ ’ Jim said. 4 4 You ’ll 


STAR-SET AND SUNRISE 281 

not let the Ailouros have the best of it, will you? 
You ’ll sail her every day, and you ’ll take her 
home now.” And he made her do it. 

4 ‘Joan was dreadfully bothered,” said Garth, 
as they sailed down, 4 4 but we did have a won- 
derful time. And I nearly forgot to show you 
the treasure.” 

i ‘That ’s true,” said his father. “Let ’s see 
the pirate gold.” 

“It ’s not gold,” Garth said, digging the 
sword-hilt out of the picnic-basket, “but it ’s 
much interestinger. ’ ’ 

“Upon — my — word!” cried Jim, entirely 
taken aback. He examined the sword eagerly 
and with much interest. 

“It looks to me mightily like an Andrea Fer- 
rara, but I ’d like to clean it a bit before I ’m 
sure.” 

“Do you mean The Sword of Ferrara?” cried 
Garth. “The one you sing about, Fogger?” 

“One like it; he made a great many.” 

“It might be, of course,” said Garth. “I 
never thought of that. Don’t you know how it 
says about its ‘rusting beside the salt sea’s 
marge’? And that ’s zackly what it was do- 
ing.” 

“I don’t think it ’s that very one, because that 


282 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

‘ rusted in exiled hands/ yon know. But it ’ s 
quite a wonderful thing to find out on old Tras- 
ket. I ’d no idea that the Spanish Main was 
really so close at hand!” 

‘ 4 We did have such fun,” Garth said. 4 'The 
fire was so nice in the dark, and before I went 
to sleep Joan said some poetry — that merman 
one, you know, and then some of yours.” 

"Mine!” said Jim, turning an astonished 
gaze upon Joan, who busied herself with the 
sheet. 

"I hope you don’t mind,” she said. "I 
learned some of them. I like them . 9 9 

“ I ’m highly honored, ’ 9 said Jim. ‘ ‘ I did n ’t 
know that any one liked them very much, except 
this old person. ’ 9 

He put his arm around Garth and slid a hand 
through his son’s wind-blown hair. 

"Let ’s see where the boom caught you, 
Cap’n,” he said. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE FLUTE AT NIGHT: JIM GOES ASHORE 

T HAT night Garth went to bed sorrowing 
that a white, plastered ceiling should be 
above him, instead of a canopy of stars. Down- 
stairs the lighthouse door stood open to the 
warm night wind and soft darkness. The light 
of the student-lamp reached no farther than the 
threshold, and the doorway framed a square cut 
from the purple evening. Outside the water 
lapped and washed with that perpetual murmur 
which made a changeless undertone to existence 
at Silver Shoal. Jim closed his book and looked 
across a lamplit round of table at his wife and 
Joan. 

“It ’s a dull book,” he said. “Read some- 
thing aloud, Elspeth.” 

Obedient, she read, and the music of her read- 
ing tilled the little rootn with soft delight and 
Joan’s heart with a deep content. Jim, smok- 
ing and gazing dreamily at the scattered stars 
beyond the window, stood up suddenly with an 

283 


284 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

impatient word. The doorway held a bowing 
figure — Count Stysalski, his flute-case in his 
hand. He hoped that he was not intruding; he 
feared that it was somewhat late for a call ; such 
a peaceful scene of enjoyment, he did not wish 
to disturb it. But since that pleasant after- 
noon upon the hill he had dreamed of another 
hour spent in delightful conversation and music. 

He may have mistaken his unenthusiastic re- 
ception for the attentive silence of an appreci- 
ative audience. He made most of the delightful 
conversation himself and soon took out his flute. 
He bowed graciously, much as though he were 
giving a recital, and began to play. Once more 
magic was wrought. The listeners, spell-bound 
despite themselves, leaned forward, rapt. They 
covered their eyes and abandoned themselves to 
the eerie ecstasy of the music. They forgot 
their dislike of the man; they were silent in 
respect, not in scorn. 

Afterward the Count persuaded Jim to take 
him up to the Light — he had such a desire to 
see that magnificent mechanism in work — and 
Jim, half dazed, led the way to the tower. He 
went up the stairs to elfin music, and it was not 
until the Count stood peering about in the lan- 
tern that Jim shook himself free of enchantment 


THE FLUTE AT NIGHT 


285 


and remembered obligation to duty and bis 
hatred of the man. Angry with himself, he cut 
short the Russian’s inspection of the lamp, led 
him down again, and lighted the way to the 
landing in marked haste. 

Later, as Jim passed through Garth’s room, 
a murmurous voice spoke from the darkness. 

“Mud — der — ” 

“It ’s Fogger, best beloved.” 

Jim went to the bed beneath the seaward win- 
dow. 

i ( Ho — you — know what happened, Fogger?” 
Garth said dreamily. 

“What did happen?” 

“A mermaid — or something — came and sang 
to me — or played. I was asleep. Hid you hear 
it, or did I just dream it?” 

“Yes,” Jim said; “I heard it, and so did 
Mudder and Joan. It was very beautiful, 
was n’t it?” 

‘ ‘ Yes, ’ ’ Garth murmured. ‘ ‘ Such nice things 
—happen— to us. And there were stars— on 
the — ceiling. ...” 

A Letter from Garth Pemberley to His Uncle 

Dear uncle Brob. Mother is writeing to you so I 
thout I would too because foger is buisy and Joan is 
writeing too. Mother says she told you about the 


286 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


tresure the last time she wrote to you so you know 
about it. It was verry eciting and we dug a lot more 
on trasket afterwords but we didn’t find any thing 
ellse. Foger elened the sordhilt and he thinks it 
realy is a furarra one. I all most forgot to tell you 
the eciting thing that hapaned yesterday a big 3 
master came along in and haled us and asked where 
they were alowed to anchor. Foger and I went 
abord of her for fun and foger sort of piletted her in. 
The captain was aufuly nice he showed me every 
thing there was on her and took me into his cabin and 
a nice sailer called Brigs carryed me in the hard 
places and I saw them get the sail off her and every 
thing. I never was abord of a schooner before were 
you ever? it is verry wonderful! The captain says 
when I am 21 he will take me on a voyage round the 
World but Im afraid he ’ll forget about it. I wish 
you would come down here on my berthday you can 
sleep in my room because I would just as leif sleep in 
the servisroom and I want you to come. I am lem- 
ing to swim foger is teaching me the astralien craul 
just the arm part of it and I can go aufuly far about 
6 ft. only not verry fast. It is verry hard because 
you all ways forget to brethe at the right time and if 
you do it when your face is under water it is horid. 
This is much the longst leter I ever wrote and I think 
I will stop because Joan says come and lets look at the 
sea caverns. Yours with love your afectonate nepew 
Garth. 


THE FLUTE AT NIGHT 


287 


A Letter from Elspeth Pemberley to Her 
Brother 

Silver Shoal, 
August 10th. 

Dearest Brob : 

This is only a word, — more to beg you to- come 
down for Garth’s birthday, than anything else. I 
know you ’re very busy, but surely you can run away 
for a day or two. Joan is still here, but you can 
bunk with ’Bijah in his queer little shack if we can’t 
wring another sleeping-place from Silver Shoal. 
Please don’t spend anything on a present for Garth,— 
you ’re always too generous. Give it to the Belgian 
babies, or to your tenement infants, if you ’d rather. 
If you ’ve a sketch of a ship, or something, that you 
don’t want, he ’d adore it to hang in his room. Don’t 
try to let us know, if you ’re not sure that you can 
come. ’Bijah will bring you out, and we shall be 
ready for you at any time. 

Jim has had a very mysterious correspondence with 
the Government of late, and goes off to-morrow to 
“have another try at the Navy,” as he says. I do 
hope that he won’t be disappointed. 

Garth has been scribbling beside me for the last 
half hour, and now proffers the enclosed. The spell- 
ing seems to have run wild in spots, but he ’s either 
too haughty to ask for assistance, or too considerate 
to interrupt me (I like to think it ’s the latter!). 
And apparently last winter’s lessons are so much 
things of the dim past as to have left no very visible 
results ! But I think that you will like the letter, and 
you would like to have seen him writing it,— so very 


28 8 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


much absorbed and with such a nice, brown profile 
against the white curtain. It was indeed exciting, 
going aboard a real schooner. It was almost too much 
for him ; he was really trembling with the wonder of 
it when he came back, and he did n ’t go to sleep for 
ages. I think it is a little bit pathetic about the 
4 4 astralien craul. * ’ Oh, you must come, Brob, if only 
to see him just the way he is now, before he changes 
a t With much love, hopefully, 

Eispeth. 

The sight of Jim in “shore clothes ” was so 
amazing and unwonted that it called forth much 
comment during half of breakfast time. A stiff, 
white collar, making his face look browner than 
ever, and a gray, pencil-striped suit vrere things 
so different from his usual attire as to make him 
seem quite another person. 

“And such shiny shoes !” said Garth. “My 
town shoes are n't as shiny as that! And such 
a beautiful speckledy necktie ! ' ' 

“I don y t like to look at him,” said Eispeth; 
“he 's much nicer the other way. Why, even 
his hair is subdued by civilization. See how 
horrid and flat it is ! ” 

“Wait until I come home this evening in an 
Admiral's uniform,” said Jim; “then you 'll be 
sorry.” 

“Will you really be an Admiral, Fogger?” 


THE FLUTE AT NIGHT 


289 


“Ever so many stars and anchors on my 
shoulder-straps,” Jim proceeded, “and very 
likely a cocked hat. And a sword, of course , 
and white kid gloves.” 

“White kid gloves will be so nice,” said El- 
speth, “when you clean the lamp and bail out 
the dory.” 

“I slia’n’t be cleaning the lamp,” Jim said. 
“I shall be standing on the bridge of my flag- 
ship, bossing the Fleet through a — periscope.” 
Then he laughed as he looked at Garth. 

“Oh, Pern!” he said, shaking his head, “you 
precious old periwinkle! Aren't you used to 
your foolish Fogger yet? I ’ll be everlastingly 
thankful if they make me an ensign, or let me 
in at all.” 

He stood up and swept Garth into his arms. 

“I never know whether you really are jok- 
ing,” Garth said. “And I thought they might 
make you an Admiral. You know enough.” 

Jim smiled a little ; then looked straight into 
his son’s eyes. 

“Wish me luck, old man,” he whispered. 

Garth hugged him with all his strength. 

“Oh, I do, Fogger,” he said, “lots and lots! 
And oh, come back soon ! ’ ’ 

Jim put him down gently and, catching up his 


290 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

Panama hat, stood for a moment in the door- 
way. 

“ Good-by !” he said. “ Don’t let anything 
happen to yourselves. I expect to be home be- 
fore light-up time.” 

They gathered at the door and watched him 
cast oft the Cymba’s moorings, and they waved 
their hands. 

‘ ‘ Good-by ! Good-by ! ’ ’ 

When he had rowed a little way from the pier, 
they saw him take off the Panama hat and put 
it in the stern, with an oar-lock inside it. They 
all shouted with glee, and he looked back at 
them. They caught the sudden flash of his 
smile when the wind raced through his hair, 
making it anything but flat. 

“I do hope he ’ll make it,” said Elspeth, as 
they dried the dishes. “He ’s worked so 
hard ! All this year, you know, besides writing, 
he ’s been studying — tactical things, and navi- 
gation, and ordnance, and dear knows what else. 
He ’s done practically all that ’s required in the 
officers 7 schools, and he ’s specialized and 
worked out some ideas of his own. If they 
find that he ’s physically fit, I don ’t see why he 
should n’t get his commission at once.” 

“I think he deserves it,” said Joan. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


HARD TO MEND 

T HE day seemed curiously empty. 

i 4 Even when Fogger ’s busy writing, or 
something,’ ’ said Garth, disconsolately, “you 
know he ’s there.” 

“We felt very much the same,” Elspeth said, 
“when Garth went to town with you, Joan. 
This is a selfish family. It can never bear to 
have one of its members away for very long.” 

“What will you do when he is in the Navy 
and is away all the time?” Joan asked. 

“I ’m trying not to think about that very 
much,” Elspeth said. 

They had not even enough ambition to go 
swimming. 

“I can’t, anyway,” Garth said, “unless Fog- 
ger ’s there. I ’ll watch you. ” 

But Joan and Elspeth decided that it was not 
worth while, and the hours slipped on unevent- 
fully. While Joan read aloud to Elspeth in the 

291 


292 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


afternoon, Garth fished off the pier, but he 
caught nothing, except a very small chogset. It 
was nearly time for his supper, and they had all 
gone indoors, when they heard a blithe voice 
carolling up from the landing. 

I am a Monarch of the Sea, 

The Ruler of the Queen’s Na-vee! 

Jim appeared at the kitchen door. 

“Are you?” they all cried at once. “Tell us! 
Quickly ! ’ 9 

Elspeth put her hands on his sleeve. 

“You got it?” she said. 

“It ’s quite extraordinary, 9 ’ Jim said. “Yes, 
I got it. They said that I was absolutely fit 
physically; then we had a sort of impromptu 
technical examination. Of course nothing is 
signed and sealed, but as far as I can gather, 
if I duly pass the real exams for my stripe, it 
means a little while at school, then on a ship, 
and then , some fine day, Lieutenant J. E. Pem- 
berley, learning to command a little destroyer 
and in line for promotion.” 

Garth gave a wild shout of joy and climbed 
into his father’s arms, while Joan shook Jim’s 
hand and Elspeth patted his shoulder. 

“I knew you would,” she said. “Oh, Jim!” 


HARD TO MEND 293 

“Then you ’ll be a sea-captain, Fogger !” said 
Garth. 

“A sort of sea-captain, yes,” Jim said; “but 
not exactly the kind you mean.” 

“Won’t it be fun,” Garth said. “When 
you ’re on the destroyer and you come in, Mud- 
der and I will signal to you, — and Joan will, 
too, — semaphore and wig-wag and everything. 
And you can answer us ! Oh, think of our own 
destroyer talking to us!” 

“It would be fun, wouldn’t it!” said Jim. 
“But unfortunately you and Mudder won’t be 
at the Light any more then; so we can’t do it.” 

“Not — be at the Light?” faltered Garth. 
“What — do you mean?” His eyes were im- 
ploring; all the joyousness had gone from them. 

“You didn’t think, did you, Pern, that you 
and Mudder could stay here alone?” Jim said. 
“You couldn’t, you know. But I sha’n’t be 
called until the autumn. Then Cap’n ’Bijah 
will keep the Light, and you and Mudder will 
go to live in — in town, perhaps with Uncle 
Brob. Ah, Pern, don’t! Why, you poor old 
chap ! ’ ’ 

Garth clung to him desperately, struggling to 
keep back the tears that finally overwhelmed 
him. He wept, broken-hearted, his face buried 


294 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


on his father’s shoulder. Elspeth kissed the 
back of his neck, which was the only place she 
could reach. 

‘ 1 Let ’s go up into my room, ’ ’ said Jim, ‘ 1 and 
talk a bit.” 

He reached out for his hat as he passed the 
table, then went on up the stairs. 

“That will be hard to mend,” said Elspeth. 
“Poor dear person! I believe he ’d never 
thought of such a possibility.” 

Late sunshine filled the quiet room above with 
golden light. Mellow bands spread an amber 
patch across the smooth old floor, slightly un- 
even beneath the round braid rugs, and a warm 
reflection touched the low white ceiling. The 
windows under the eaves looked to a wide, tran- 
quil vista of shimmering bay and misty shore ; 
the white curtains scarcely stirred in the faint 
land breeze. Jim sat down in the big armchair 
beside his desk, on which lay many scattered 
papers, gilded by the streaming sunlight. He 
held Garth, who kept his face hidden upon the 
comforting shoulder. Jim rubbed his cheek 
now and then against Garth’s hair, but did not 
speak. And so they sat there for a long time, 
while the water clucked below at the foot of the 
tower and the sunshine crept slowly up the wall. 


HARD TO MEND 295 

“Far — away from — the sea?” Garth quav- 
ered at last. 

“Not very near, I ’ m afraid,” said Jim. 
“Nothing would be just like this, you know.” 

i i I can ’t, ’ ’ sobbed Garth. ‘ 1 1 can ’t go — away 
from — the sea.” 

“Sometimes people have to do things when 
they think they can’t,” said Jim. 

“But I ’d d-die. I couldn’t ever like any 
other place, not if I lived to be a hundred and 
f-fifty.” 

“Listen, dear old man,” Jim said; “you want 
to be a sea-captain, and you can ’t be. But you 
can help me to be one. If you and Mudder 
stayed here, I couldn’t go and help to beat the 
Germans. We ’ll have to go away from our 
Light, and I love it as much as you do, Pern. 
You ’ll have to go to town, far away from the 
sea and ships ; you ’ll have to bear a lot of things 
that will be pretty stiff, and you must cheer 
Mudder up, too. And you ’ll be doing your bit 
and helping me while I ’m doing mine. I ’ll be 
on the bridge of a destroyer, and your quarter- 
deck will be a room in town, but you ’ll be just 
as much on duty there as though you were 
standing beside me, and I expect you to do your 
duty. ’ ’ 


296 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“You — won’t be there,” whispered Garth. 

“Do you think it ’s very easy for me to leave 
you and Mudder ? ’ 9 said Jim. 1 1 I shall be doing 
what I ’ve wanted for a long time to do, but 
there ’ll not be an hour when I ’m not thinking 
about you and wanting you. You ’ve never 
been away from me for more than a day, Pern. 
Do you suppose that just because I ’m helping 
to command a ship, I sha’n’t miss you? We ’ll 
both have to try, I think.” 

“I will try, Fogger,” said Garth. “But oh, 
not having the sea — and our Light — and the 
ships — and — you ! Oh, Fogger ! ’ ’ 

“Steady!” said Jim, “steady! Town ’s not 
all horror, you know. It ’s full of splendid 
things that you must see and know, and you ’ll 
love them, too, after a bit. Music, real music 
that you ’ve never heard, Pern, and pictures, 
and books, and school. People and things from 
the four ends of the earth, such as you ’ve never 
dreamed of. And remember, too, that there are 
other things just as fine as being a sea-captain, 
and that take just as much grit. Are you going 
to show me that you have it? Are you going 
to prove that you have the stuff in you worthy 
of a great captain, even though you can’t be 
one?” 


HAED TO MEND 


297 


“Yes!” said Garth, sitting up. 

Jim shook hands with him. 

6 ‘ Thank yon, ’ ’ he said. 

Garth twisted a button of his father’s coat 
and tucked his head down. 

‘ ‘ Fogger, ’ ’ he said, ‘ ‘ I want to ask you some- 
thing.” 

“Yes?” 

“Why does everybody in town look at me, 
everybody ? Is it because I can’t walk right?” 

“Partly, perhaps,” said Jim, “and partly be- 
cause you always look as though you were en- 
joying things a good deal. They don’t often see 
people who look like that. Let ’em look, say I ! 
When I ’m out on the high seas I shall envy all 
those people very much, having a chance to look 
at you.” 

Garth laughed shakily. 

“I *m afraid I messed your collar up aw- 
fully,” he said. 

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jim. “It needed 
a little salt water, like the rest of my clothes. I 
shall take it off in a minute, anyhow, and get 
into my other things. And suppose you wash 
your face.” 

“I can’t,” said Garth. “The crutches are 
left downstairs.” 


298 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“I never knew that was what yon washed 
your face with!” said Jim. “Ha, then, yon ’re 
my prisoner!” 

He flung himself back in the chair, holding 
Garth in a great bear-hug. 

“How can you possibly get away? And how 
can I ever, ever let you go!” 

Elspeth, coming to the foot of the stairs to 
call Garth to his supper, heard them laughing 
together. 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE LIGHT GOES OUT 

J OAN and Garth were alone at the lighthouse 
on a late afternoon of heavy clouds and 
dull sea. Jim and Elspeth had gone into Quim- 
paug for the mail as usual, but also to get what 
Jim termed “a few flourishes” for Garth’s 
birthday. This errand explained their so heart- 
ily agreeing with Garth ’s wish to stay and keep 
Joan company. They had suddenly remem- 
bered that the small purchases must be made 
that day in readiness for the celebration on 
Monday. Caleb was away, as he often had 
been of late, for his mother was ill; and Joan 
remained in charge at Silver Shoal. Before 
Jim left he carefully explained to her the 
“workings” of the fog-bell and the manner of 
lighting the lamp. 

“It ’s absurd,” he said, “because there ’s no 
fog within a hundred miles, and I shall be back 
long before light-up time. But such is my duty. 
A competent person must be left in charge, say 

299 


300 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


the Rules, and I suppose you would n’t be com- 
petent, if you did n ’ t know how to start every- 
thing. ’ ’ 

He and Elspeth waved their hands from the 
Ailouros, and Joan and Garth stood at the door 
watching the gray sail grow smaller, slanting 
across the steely water. Then a cold gust from 
under the low clouds made them turn back into 
the living-room. 

“ You can sit in Fogger’s big chair,” Garth 
said. “And it would be very nice if you ’d tell 
me a story,” he hinted, in a detached tone. 

He pushed up a foot-stool for himself, and, 
collapsing upon it, leaned against Joan’s knee. 

“Well,” she said presently, “perhaps I will. 
Not a real story; I II just tell you about some 
things.” 

“Ships?” questioned Garth eagerly, screwing 
himself around to look up at her. 

“No, not ships at all,” Joan said. “Some- 
thing quite different. Something about Town. ’ ’ 

“Oh,” said Garth. He turned away again 
and sighed faintly. 

“About music,” Joan went on. “There are 
such concerts! Music rather like the Count’s, 
but there are hundreds of men to play it. Some 
of them have violins, and some have flutes — like 


THE LIGHT GOES OUT 


301 


the Count — and others have oboes and bassoons. 
Trumpets and cymbals, harps, viols, and tym- 
pani. ’ ’ 

The words had all the glamour of ancient 
shawm and psaltery. Joan dwelt on them ex- 
pressively. 

1 6 The music soars like wind among the stars ; 
it thunders like white water on the Beef. It is 
very beautiful.” 

“I should like that,” Garth murmured. “I 
suppose I Ve never heard any real music.” 

Joan reflected that, with the exception of his 
father’s songs and the Counts fluting, he had 
probably never heard any music at all. She did 
not count the hurdy-gurdy in the City. 

“Yes, you would like it,” she said. “ Some- 
times when you come out of the concert-place, 
lamps are beginning to. shine and the streets are 
wet and blue. They reflect the lights just like 
still water. Then there ’s the Park ! You walk 
along beside glassy ponds through twisting 
paths. Sometimes the paths climb up and down 
between rocky ledges among the trees; some- 
times they lead past wide meadows of smooth, 
close-clipped grass. Far off, at the edge of the 
Park, you can see rosy tops of buildings, like 
enchanted battlements above the trees. The 


302 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

trees are blue and misty, and lights begin to 
come out among them. There are little lights 
everywhere, like fairy lamps. The Mall is a 
great avenue that runs through the middle of 
the Park; that ’s where the children play. 
They roll their hoops and race up and down 
under the tall elms. After they ’ve gone home, 
lights appear there, too, — very flat, pale ones, 
that look like moons tangled in the branches. 
There ’s a fountain at the end of the Mall, and 
a great flight of stone steps, and a pond where 
there are often wild ducks.” 

“But I thought you were telling me about 
Town,” Garth said. 

“I am,” Joan assured him; “we ’re still com- 
ing home from the concert. ’ ’ 

Are we?” said Garth. “I didn’t know it 
was like that. May I sit on your lap ? ” 

He held out his hands to her, and she helped 
him up and gathered him on to her knees. He 
slid an arm about her neck. 

“The Park ’s nice,” he said. “Go on, 
please.” 

“And the Fifth Avenue ’bus!” she said, sud- 
denly. “Did you ever ride in one, Garth?” 
He shook his head. “Well, they ’re automo- 
biles with an upstairs, you know. You scram- 


303 


THE LIGHT GOES OUT 

ble up the curly little steps and get the front 
seat, if you can. Then it ’s something like be- 
ing in a very low airplane. And Riverside 
Drive! That ’s almost lovelier than the Park. 
The ’bus goes skimming along beside the river. 
The sky and the water and the opposite shore 
are all one color, a wonderful, misty, emerald 
green. In fact, you couldn’t see the other 
shore at all, if there were not a few lights shin- 
ing on it. In the strip of parkway close at 
hand, more lamps twinkle between the tall pop- 
lar trees. Have you ever seen a poplar tree?” 

Garth had not. 

“I can’t exactly explain them,” Joan said. 
“You ’ll have to wait until you see them. 
They ’re a different-looking sort of tree, very 
nice. At any rate, there are lots of them 
on Riverside Drive. Automobiles and other 
’busses stream past, something like fiery-eyed 
dragons, with their white and red lights. The 
roadway is so smooth that it looks like a river 
itself, steely-blue and shining, turning and dip- 
ping. I remember that one evening when I was 
staying in New York last winter, I looked out of 
the ’bus window and saw a lot of — er — battle- 
ships in the river. ’ ’ 

She stole a look at Garth, who reproached her. 


304 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


i ‘Don’t make it up,” lie said. 

“I ’m not,” she said. “They were there,— 
not destroyers, hut real dreadnoughts, — the At- 
lantic Fleet, in fact. They all were signaling 
like mad (I know about ‘blinkies’ now!), and 
just as the ’bus passed, I could hear the bells 
strike some hour, I forget what.” 

“Do you mean that there are things like that, 
and places like that, in Town?” Garth de- 
manded, sitting up straight. f 4 There ’s nothing 
in the City where you and I went like that . 7 7 

“What Quimpaug calls the City is a very dif- 
ferent place from New York,” said Joan. “No 
other city is like New York. Of course, it is not 
all Park and River; there are ugly things and 
crowded streets. But in a winter twilight al- 
most all of it is beautiful.” 

“Is that where Mudder and I are going to 
live, when Fogger has to go?” Garth asked. 

“Yes,” said Joan, “I think so. I wish that 1 
were going to live there this winter . 7 7 

Garth subsided against her shoulder again. 

“Perhaps I would n’t mind that place much,” 
he sighed. “Please tell me some more about 
it.” 

Joan did tell him more, so much more that 
they were both quite far away, in fancy, from 


THE LIGHT GOES OUT 305 

the living-room at the lighthouse. But all at 
once Garth slid from her lap, and cried : 

“Look, Joan! The sun has set! Why, it ’s 
almost beginning to be dark! The Light is n’t 
lit, and Fogger has n’t come back!” 

Joan sprang up, and they went out upon the 
rock, searching the twilit water for some sign of 
the Ailouros. But the mouth of the bay was 
empty. 

“What can have delayed them?” Joan won- 
dered. “But we ought to light up, I suppose. 
I ’m glad that your father showed me about 
it.” 

“It ’s perfickly easy, ’ ’ said Garth. “ I ’d like 
to go with you, but I can’t climb up the tower 
stairs.” 

She left him and ran through the passage into 
the tower. She felt strangely awed, up there 
in the lantern, alone with the great lens. She 
pulled back the curtains, and pale dusk filled 
the little place. She lit the lamp and adjusted 
it. The Light shone out, clear and steady. 
Joan left its silent and majestic presence, but, 
hurrying down the iron stairs, she seemed to 
feel still that quiet, luminous regard. 

Garth was waiting for her in the service- 
room, and they went together into the kitchen. 


306 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“You ’d better have your supper,” Joan said. 
“I ’ll have mine, too, if you like. Then I ’ll get 
some ready for the rest of the family when they 
come in.” 

“They can’t have capsized,” said Garth; 
“hut Fogger never, never would stay out at 
light-up time. What else could happen, J oan ? ’ ’ 

“Let ’s not worry,” she said. “It ’s prob- 
ably quite a simple delay. We ’ll make our- 
selves very miserable, if we begin trying to 
think of everything that might have happened. ’ ’ 

But neither of them could eat much supper. 
The leaden dusk outside the windows thickened 
to an opaque darkness. The clouds were low 
and heavy, smothering every star. The lights 
of Quimpaug lay hidden behind the point, and 
no ships were moored in sight; not a glimmer 
broke the sullen dark. 

Joan helped Garth upstairs and to bed. 

“Please go and look once more out of the 
window in Fogger’s room,” he pleaded, as she 
was about to say good-night. “There ’s a lan- 
tern in the Ailouros always, and they ’d have it 
lighted. ’ ’ 

She left him, and going into the dark, empty 
room at the front of the house, she leaned over 
Jim’s desk and gazed out into the impenetrable 


THE LIGHT GOES OUT 


307 


blackness. It was a relief to come back from 
the dark into Garth ’s little room. The lamp on 
the bureau made a cheerful aureole of light and 
threw a great golden circle upon the ceiling. 
On a shelf the hilt of the Ferrara broad-sword 
gleamed fitfully, where it lay in company with 
a little model of a schooner that Jim had made 
many years before. Garth’s jumper, flung over 
the back of the splint-bottom rocker, made a cool 
patch of blue in the middle of the yellow lamp- 
light. Garth, himself, — an anxious little figure 
in white pajamas — sat on the bed, hugging his 
knees, which shook a little. 

“Did you see anything?” he asked, as she 
came in. 

“No,” she said; “but they were probably be- 
hind the point. I ’ll look again presently.” 

She pulled the blankets over him and bent to 
kiss him. He held her very tightly and looked 
straight into her eyes. 

“Do you think they ’re drowned?” he said. 
“Tell me truly.” 

“No!” Joan said with decision. “I don’t! 
Your father is too good a sailor to capsize, and 
besides, there ’s not enough wind. I thought 
at first that there was not enough to sail back 
with, but surely by this time they ’& have got a 


308 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


tow, or asked Cap’n ’Bijah to bring them out. 
No, they ’ve been held up in some unaccountable 
way. Your father knew that I could light up.” 

“He wouldn’t stay away at light-up time,” 
persisted Garth. “He wouldn’t, he couldn’t, 
whatever happened.” 

“Don’t worry so, dear person,” Joan said. 
“I know it will be all right. Try to go to 
sleep.” 

She kissed him again and took up the lamp. 
With her hand on the rope balustrade of the 
stairs, she paused and turned back, away from 
The silent blackness below. 

“I ’ll sit in my room and read, if you ’d 
rather,” she said. “Then you can see my light 
through the door.” 

She sat in her room, but she found it very 
hard to read. She saw the printed words and 
pronounced them to herself, without the least 
idea of their meaning, while her mind for the 
thousandth time went over all the things which 
might, by any chance, have happened to Jim and 
Elspeth. Ten o’clock — eleven — twelve! Joan 
tip-toed to the door of Garth’s room and stood 
there, listening. 

“Joan!” said a small voice. 


THE LIGHT GOES OUT 309 

“Darling! You Ve not been awake all this 
time!” 

“Not all the time. Have they come yet?” 

“No, not yet.” 

“I ’d like you to be beside me for a little 
while.” 

Joan blew out the lamp in her room and felt 
her way back to him. She sat down on the floor 
beside the bed and took his hand. He wriggled 
himself to the edge of the bed and lay very close 
to her, with his cheek against her arm. It was 
so dark that they could not see one another. 
The Light shot its steady silver finger straight 
out toward the horizon, but it seemed only to 
make the blackness of the room more intense. 
The little waves wrangled together, snarling 
and hissing at the foot of the wall. 

Joan thought presently that Garth was 
asleep, and began quietly to withdraw her hand, 
when a sound at the landing made her stop. 

“What was it?” whispered Garth, wide, 
awake. 

The noise came again, this time clearly recog- 
nizable as the last muffled snort of a power- 
boat’s engine. 

“There they are!” laughed Joan, springing 


310 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

up. “Cap’n ’Bijah has brought them out, just 
as I said. Lie still, beloved.” She ran to the 
head of the stairs. “Hello! Hello!” she 
called. 

There was utter silence. No — a creak, a faint 
sound, in the living-room. 

‘ ‘Is that you, Jim and Elspeth?” she cried 
sharply. 

Silence still, and then there was suddenly 
turned upon her, from the foot of the stairs, the 
dazzling glare of an electric search-light. 

“What is it?” called Garth. “Why don’t 
they come up?” 

There was a rush of heavy feet on the stairs. 
Joan dashed into Garth’s room and flung her- 
self against the door. But before she could lock 
it, it was steadily pushed open ; she was forced 
back, back. She could see nothing except that 
blinding search-light, but out of the darkness 
behind it spoke the soft voice of Count Sty- 
salski. 

“We are not the friends you were expecting, 
hein? No, they are taking a little pleasure sail, 
quite safe, quite safe, I assure you. Himmel! 
What a wild beast for struggle it is ! Hold the 
lady, Schmidt.” 

Two iron arms pinned Joan fast. The heart- 


THE LIGHT GOES OUT 311 

less white eye of the search-light swept the 
room, gave Joan one flash of Garth, sitting wide- 
eyed on the edge of his bed, and rested on the 
opposite wall. Here were two great eye-bolts 
imbedded in the masonry, unexplained relics of 
some former keeper. The light moved from one 
to the other of these rings as though consider- 
ing. Then the Count spoke again. 

“The rope, Schmidt, schnell!” 

A heavy voice growled something in German, 
and Joan was dragged toward the wall. Then 
she found her own voice. 

“What— what does it mean?” she cried. 

‘ ‘ You are a German, you, Count Stysalski ? Oh, 
I don ’t understand anything ! ’ ’ 

The Count laughed shortly. His quick fin- 
gers were tying innumerable knots, making turn 
after turn of rope about Joan’s arms. 

“The wonderful musician!” he scoffed. 
“The delightful artisM What do I care about 
art ? ” He snapped his fingers. 4 4 Do you think 
I understood the keepair’s pompous t’eories? 
I love my music, yes! What German do not? 
But more than all, I love my Fatherland!” 

4 4 Oh, what good can you do your fiendish 
country by this?” Joan gasped. 

4 4 You evidently do not know as much about 


312 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


the proceedings of your great Government as 
we,” sneered the Count. “You evidently are 
not aware that a transport comes down the bay 
to-night under the darkness cover. It will turn 
here to go up the coast. It is very dark, but no 
fog; therefore it expects the Light, hein? 
There is no Light. What happens, hein ! ’ ’ 

He gave a last savage jerk to the rope and 
laughed. 

“It is my idea, all mine! For the Father- 
land ! ’ ’ He broke off his fanatical whisper with 
a sort of snarl. “Schmidt, why do you stand 
there? Dumkopf! The child, quick!” 

Joan made a wild effort and found that she 
could not move. 

“ No ! ” she cried, “ no ! I implore you, if you 
have one human feeling, don’t touch him! Oh, 
you know , he can do nothing; he is quite help-’ 
less. You know it ! Oh, you could n ’t ! ” 

“Dot ’s true,” muttered Schmidt, the butcher. 
“I seen him blenty often.” 

“Be still,” said the Count. “We ’re losing 
time. Be quick, erbarmliche Blindschleiche !” 

Both the men stood between Joan and Garth, 
hiding him from her. Against the light she saw 
Schmidt’s short, square form, the Count’s lithe, 
sinuous figure, saw them bending down. There 


THE LIGHT GOES OUT 


313 


was absolutely no sound ; then she heard Garth 
draw in his breath with a little gasp, but that 
was all. The searchlight wheeled back to her 
for a moment, shifted to the door, then vanished. 
Joan waited until the tramp of Schmidt's heavy 
boots had died from the door before she dared 
even whisper. 

“What have they done! Garth! Are you 
hurt!” 

“No,” he said. 

They were silent again, for they both knew 
that they were waiting for something. For 
what! Then it came. The calm, faithful beam 
of the Light that touched the horizon was sud- 
denly extinguished, with a little struggling 
flicker. Silence. Then the protesting sputter 
of a muffled engine, as a motor-boat left the 
landing. 

ft 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

THE TRANSPORT STEAMS OH 

O UT of the darkness came Garth’s voice, 
very anxious and tender. 

“Have they hurt you, Joan?” 

“No; oh, no!” she said. “Dearest, what 
have they done to you?” 

“Nothing. They tied my hands rather tight, 
but that ’s all. What did they do to you?” 
Joan gave a sigh of relief that it was no more. 
“They tied me hand and foot, round and 
round, to those eye-bolts,” she said. 

“I suppose they only tied up my hands be- 
cause they knew I couldn’t walk,” Garth said. 

1 Oh, Joan ! Think of that ship coming down 
now! Trusting the Light, and it is n’t there.” 
“I know,” said Joan dully. 

The realization of it all began to dawn on 
Garth. 

“All full of soldiers!” he said. “Oh, it 
would be awful enough, if it were just a poor 

314 


THE TRANSPORT STEAMS ON 315 

schooner that trusted us. We ’ll have to do 
something.” 

“I know,” Joan said again; “but we can’t.” 

“What do you suppose they ’ve done to Fog- 
ger and Mudder? Have they killed them, 
Joan?” His voice went up unsteadily at the 
end. 

“No, no!” Joan cried. “They ’re just hold- 
ing them somewhere, perhaps in a boat. I don ’t 
know. That — that creature said they were safe. 
But I don’t know whether he told the truth,” 
she murmured to herself. 

It was still again. Joan felt that her head 
would bum up. Her hands and feet were cold, 
but her head throbbed and whirled. 

Garth spoke again. 

“If I came to you, do you think that I could 
untie you, Joan?” 

“No,” she said. “There are hundreds of 
knots, knotted and twisted and turned. No 
one could, especially in the dark. Besides, you 
couldn’t come to me. And aren’t your own 
hands tied?” 

“Yes.” 

“Behind you, or in front of you?” 

“Behind my back.” 

“You couldn’t possibly untie me, beloved.” 


316 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


The water outside sucked and gurgled with a 
cruel, hungry sound, and up above, the Light 
stood dead in the darkness. 

“Is there a knife in your room, Joan?” 
Garth asked, “or scissors?” 

“No,” she said. 

“There ’s none in Fogger and Mudder’s 
room, either,” he mused. “Only little sewing- 
scissors, in Mudder’s work-basket; they 
would n’t do. Is it a thick rope, Joan?” 

“Quite thick. About as big as the stern-fast 
of the Ailouros .” 

“I know where there is a knife,” he said; 
“the only one I ’m sure about. The big boat 
jack-knife on the little shelf over the chest down- 
stairs. It ’s always there beside the telescope.” 

“It doesn’t do us very much good, though,” 
she said, with a groan; “thinking of it won’t 
help us.” 

“I ’m going to get it,” Garth said. 

“You can’t, darling; you mustn’t think of 
trying. It ’s very brave of you.” 

There was a sudden sound, as Garth slid from 
the bed on to the floor. 

“ I ’m going, ’ ’ he said. 

“No!” Joan cried. “Yousha’n’t! I forbid 
you absolutely. Garth! Garth!” 


THE TRANSPORT STEAMS ON 317 


“ I don’t see how you can stop me,’’ he said, 
with what sounded almost like a laugh. 

“But you can’t!” Joan protested. “You 
must n’t !” 

“I can,” he said. “If I sit on the floor, I 
can get my hands out behind me and wiggle 
backwards, rather like a crab or an inch-worm. 
I ’ m doing it now, only I wish I knew where 
the door was. Oh, Joan, I ’m awfully glad you 
said that, so that they did n’t tie me all up.” 

“I did n ’t know when I said it that this was 
what you ’ d do,” she groaned. “Ah, please!” 

“That ship — coming along — this minute — 
in the dark — thinking the Light ’s there,” he 
said in a queer, flat voice. “ Don ’t keep making 
it worse, Joan.” His voice came from the door 
now. 

Joan’s head sank on her chest. She tried to 
think of nothing, but her mind flew from one 
dreadful conjecture to another. It seemed to 
her that it might have been all night that she 
stood there, numb and agonized. Sometimes 
she called to him, and always his voice came 
back very cheerfully. Then— a sudden crash 
and silence. 

‘ ‘ Garth ! Oh ! ” She struggled and wrenched 
wildly, but the rope only cut her arms and 


318 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


tightened. There was no sound but the almost 
unbearable beat of her own heart. Then — 

“All right! I — have — it, Joan!” 

Interminable ages. She struck her whirling 
head back against the wall, to feel some other 
sensation than numbness and horror. Why did 
not some one see that the Light had gone out 
and come to investigate? Then she remem- 
bered the bay, bare of ships just then, and Quim- 
paug, hidden behind the point. Why did not 
the Life Saving Station see? Why didn't the 
men come from there? Could it be possible 
that the patrol had not missed the Light? Was 
there nothing, nobody, who had seen it go out? 
Was no one to know it until that hurrying 
transport, with its freight of soldiers, lay splin- 
tered on the Reef? Though the stars were muf- 
fled, all was clear on the sea below. The ship, 
expecting every instant to pick up the Light, 
would almost certainly cut too close to the point. 
The German's odious words came back to her, 
“There is no Light; what happens, hein?” 

“Where are you, Joan?” said Garth's voice. 
It seemed to come from miles away. “Say 
something, so that I can find you. ” 

She roused with a start and called out to 


THE TRANSPORT STEAMS ON 319 


him, and presently his shoulder struck her knee. 
He leaned there for a few moments, catching 
his breath with a little jerk. 

“Now I 11 — have to — open it — first,” he said. 

There was another silence ; then a little click. 

“It ’s open. I 11 have to get with my hack 
to you, on account of my hands being behind 
me. Oh, I can’t reach far enough!” 

He caught her dress and pulled himself to his 
knees. 

“Now try,” she said, in a voice which did not 
seem to come from her own lips. 

“I still can’t reach your hands,” he said. 
“My arms aren’t put on right to work back- 
ward. If I can get all the way up, I can reach. 
May I pull hard? Am I hurting you?” 

“No; go on.” 

She felt his hand take a new grip on her skirt, 
and then the tremendous effort of his pulling 
himself from his knees to his poor little un- 
steady feet. 

“I ’m horribly afraid of cutting you,” he 
said. “I can reach now, but I can’t tell just 
what I ’m doing.” 

“Cut me, if you have to. Don’t mind what 
you do,” she said. 


320 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


The knife was sawing at a turn of the rope 
with short, hampered strokes. She conld hear 
him whispering doggedly to himself : 

“I can, I — can. I did it — as long as — this — 
at the — doctor’s. I can do it.” 

The rope loosened a little in one place, and 
Joan twisted her hand. 

“ Don’t,” Garth said. “I ’ll cut you. You 
can’t pull it out yet, till I do more. Don’t jig- 
gle your arm! If I fall down now, it ’ll take 
so much longer!” 

She remained motionless, and at last some- 
thing gave with a rush. She tore one arm free. 

“Take the knife,” Garth gasped. “Can you 
do the rest yourself? I — I ’m afraid I — don’t 
feel — quite — ” 

He went down suddenly in a limp little heap« 
across her feet. She hacked and slashed at the 
ropes which bound her other arm and her 
ankles. 

“Garth, Garth! Oh, my poor, splendid 
darling ! ’ ’ 

The next moment she had him in her stiff 
arms and had cut his hands free. With rather 
uncertain steps she carried him across to his 
bed. Holding him very closely, she felt the 
struggle of his overtaxed heart hurrying 


THE TRANSPORT STEAMS ON 321 

against her own. As she stooped to pull the 
covers around him, he pushed her from him. 

“Go!” he said. “I hn all right now. Go to 
the Light! Oh, run!” 

She ran down the dark, steep stairs, through 
the lamp-room passage. There she stumbled 
over familiar rubber-boots ; an oilskin coat 
sw y ept her cheek and made her start violently. 
Up the iron steps of the tower, around and 
around, losing all sense of how far she had 
come, till she fell against the little ladder at 
the top. 

In the lantern it was chokingly black, and 
from the darkness without came the steady 
throb and thrill of a screw. Joan groped fran- 
tically. The match spurted and flickered, then 
a calm, triumphant radiance filled the night. 
There was the grinding, hissing roar of a great 
engine backing full speed astern, a racing and 
thrashing of water. Joan clung dizzily to the 
rail of the gallery, looking down. 

Out of the somber immensity of the night 
loomed the shape of a great steamship, backing 
desperately away from the ledges. It sheered 
off and swung close around the seaward corner 
of the lighthouse, so close that Joan saw dim 
white faces staring up at her blankly. 


322 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


The transport swept on, and night closed in 
about the place where she had passed. But 
when the low beat of her engines had died, the 
waves of her wake still foamed and fretted 
against the foot of the tower. Joan went back 
into the lantern, because she was half afraid 
that she would fall from the balcony. She put 
out her hand to steady herself, and, in the light 
of the great lamp, saw that it was covered with 
blood. But though she searched rapidly, she 
found no cut or wound on her person which 
could account for it. With a little cry, “Oh, 
Garth !” she groped, stumbling, down the 
tower-stairs and back through the passage. 

Feverishly, with clumsy fingers, Joan lit a 
lamp and ran up the house stairway, holding 
the light high and shading her dazzled eyes 
from its flame. Before she had gone halfway, 
Garth spoke. 

“I saw her, Joan! I saw her go by! Oh, 
you were almost not in time, but you saved 
her !” 

“Oh, I didn’t,” cried Joan, as she entered 
the room; “ you saved her. Garth! You are 
hurt!” 

For beside his forehead the pillow was dark 
with blood. Bending over him, she found the 


THE TRANSPORT STEAMS ON 323 


wound, a deep, irregular gash at the edge of his 
hair, not serious, but ugly enough. 

“I didn’t know it hit me so hard,” he said, 
as Joan poured some water into a basin and 
searched Jim’s medicine-chest for the iodine. 
“What a mess! I ’m awfully sorry.” 

“What hit you? How did it happen?” 

She was trying desperately hard to speak in 
a perfectly matter-of-fact tone. She still saw 
the great bow of the transport reeling back 
from the Reef. She wished that Garth would 
cry, that she might, too. 

“It was when I got the knife,” he said. 
“That was the hardest part. I got on the chest 
— it took an awfully long time — and I couldn’t 
reach, so I knocked the knife off with my chin, 
or something, and of course the telescope went, 
too.” 

“That was what I heard, then.” 

“Partly, but perhaps some of it was me, be- 
cause I sort of fell off the chest then, and the 
iron corner of it hit me a whack on the head. 
That was why I didn’t answer you for a min- 
ute; I felt rather funny. Oh!” 

He stiffened under the blanket and caught 
Joan’s hand. The iodine was not pleasant. 

“Better in a minute,” Joan said. “Think 


324 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


of the soldiers, having it put on such big 
wounds. What did you do then ? ’ ’ 

“It took me ever so long to find where I ’d 
knocked the knife to,” he said, “but I found it 
after a while and came along back.” 

“Those stairs!” Joan said. “Oh, I don’t 
see how you did it.” 

“The stairs were really about the easiest 
part,” he said. “I used to have to go up and 
down stairs that way when I was little, before 
I could walk very well, only not with my hands 
tied, of course. How nicely you did the band- 
age, Joan.” 

She smoothed it over his forehead and stood 
looking down at him. His eyes were full of an 
unutterable weariness; the inert lines of his 
whole figure showed complete exhaustion. She 
knew that nothing but the terrific stimulus of 
excitement kept him up at all. 

“You must try to sleep, darling,” she said, 
“while I think what to do next.” 

“I can’t sleep,” he said. “Where are Mud- 
der and Fogger? How are we going to get 
them! Oh, talk to me! I — I ’ve got to talk. 
I can ’t go to sleep. ’ 7 

“I ’ve been wondering how we can find them, ’ ’ 


THE TRANSPORT STEAMS ON 325 


she said. “The Germans may have them as 
prisoners on one of the islands, or — oh, I don’t 
know what.” 

“Can’t you go in to Quimpaug,” Garth said, 
“and call some people to help?” 

“I couldn’t leave you. Besides, Quimpaug 
never would wake up enough to help me. The 
Life Saving Station would be a better place. I 
can’t understand why they haven’t come long 
ago to find out about the Light.” 

“Of course that ’s the place to go!” Garth 
cried. He was twisting the edge of the sheet 
nervously. “Right away! The Germans may 
have Fogger and Mudder in their launch and 
be going out to a submarine at full speed. Oh, 
don’t stop for anything , Joan! The Coast 
Guard people have a huge big power-boat that 
might catch them. Go!” 

“And leave you here alone? Suppose that 
they came back, the Germans? Though I don’t 
think they will. They must have been fright- 
ened when they saw the Light go on again.” 
She made up her mind. “Yes, I will go. I ’m 
sure they ’re not taking your father and mother 
to a submarine, but I do think they may be in 
danger. And the spies mustn’t escape, if we 


326 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

can help it. I ’ll go. Oh, good-by! Are you 
afraid?” 

“Yes, I am,” Garth said, as she took her 
hand from his. “Good-by, Joan.” 


CHAPTER XXIX 


DAYBREAK 

J OAN took no lantern with her for fear that 
the Germans might still be lurking some- 
where about the Shoal. She groped her way 
down the pier and felt for the boat’s mooring- 
rope. In her haste she knocked down an oar, 
and was appalled by the echoing clatter. She 
rowed away steadily in the direction of the 
mainland, knowing that she could make better 
time by landing at any point along the shore 
and running up the beach than by trying to row 
directly to the Coast Guard Station. Before 
her lay impenetrable night, sky and water 
merged into one dark wall ; astern, the light of 
Silver Shoal burned white and clear. Joan felt 
solitary, helpless, in the midst of the dark and 
unseen waters. That light, hung between sea 
and sky, meant for her at that moment hearth 
and home and security. She was leaving it, 
heading for a black, unfamiliar shore. But be- 
low that steady, watchful eye, growing ever 
327 


328 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

more distant, she knew that Garth lay, alone 
and afraid, twisting his fingers in the edge of 
the blanket and listening for something. She 
remembered Jim’s saying once: “The biggest 
sort of courage is being afraid to do something 
— -and doing it.” 

Joan had lost all idea of how long she had 
been rowing when a long swell rose suddenly 
under the boat. She felt it hang poised on the 
crest of the roller; then it slid up the beach, 
drenching her as the stern swung around. She 
leaped out before the backwash could sweep the 
boat into the surf again, and dragged it up the 
sand. Dripping, she stood for a moment to get 
her bearings, then ran into the darkness up the 
shore. The wind soughed and rustled in the 
stiff grass on invisible dunes; the light surf 
hissed and rattled among loose pebbles. A 
great bittern rose suddenly from the beach-plum 
bushes, startling Joan as he flapped away with 
a raucous cry. She stumbled and slid in the 
deep, cold sand. Sometimes she splashed 
through the edge of a silently gliding wave. 
Her wet skirt clung to her, making every step 
more difficult. 

If only she could see! The darkness seemed 
to weigh on her, to choke and smother her. It 


DAYBREAK 


329 


wrapped about her like a horrible clinging web 
which she could not push aside. On and on she 
ran, through the loose, shifting sand, into the 
endless dark. And at last she felt the bulk of 
the Coast Guard Station looming ahead, and 
shouted before she reached it. 

Running toward the door, she stumbled over 
something that moved and groaned faintly. It 
was the limp form of a man, huddled against 
a post on the beach. Joan did not stop. She 
hammered on the door of the Station and 
shouted again. 

The captain came downstairs in his shirt and 
trousers, blinking and running his big hands 
through his stiff, grizzled hair. He looked very 
much as though he were seeing a specter. Joan 
poured out her story as intelligibly as she could, 
and the captain, wide awake now, gave quick 
orders to the men who were tumbling out, pull- 
ing on their coats. The place woke to rapid and 
efficient action. The crew dashed to the boat- 
house, each man in his place, and made a record 
launching of the big power surf -boat. The in- 
jured patrolman was carried into the Station, 
where he sat rubbing his head and little by little 
recovering his senses. One of the men ran up 
the beach, with lantern bobbing, to find the 


330 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


other patrol, who must also have been attacked 
and knocked unconscious by the Germans. 

“You come along with us!” the captain 
shouted to Joan, who stood beside the boat- 
house ways, uncertain what to do next. “We ’ll 
drop you off at the Light on our way out. ’ ’ He 
picked her up bodily and, splashing through 
the surf, swung her into the boat. 

“Beatin’est business I ever heard tell of,” he 
said, as the power-boat plunged out through the 
inshore swell, her searchlight sweeping the 
foamy waves. “They was smart, all right; 
thought of everything. Maybe you don ’t know 
how we work this night patrol?” 

Joan had no very clear idea of the system. 

“Well, there ain’t nobody on watch in the 
tower at night, y’ see, but there ’s one of the 
boys sets in the Station, and he punches what 
we call a clock — a time-detector, it is — to show 
he ’s attending to business. In seven and a 
half minutes he goes out to a post on the beach 
in front of the Station and takes a look around 
and punches another clock. ’Nother seven and 
a half minutes he hits the one inside again, and 
he keeps that up for two hours. Well, now, 
whilst he ’s doing that, there ’s another feller 
that ’s going up the beach. When he gets up 


DAYBREAK 


331 


about two mile, there ’s a little shack up there 
where he telephones back to the Station to show 
he ’s on the job, and he punches his own clock. 
It takes him about two hours to get up there 
and back, and when he gets in, why he takes 
the watch in the Station, and the other feller 
takes the beach-patrol in the opposite direction, 
down the shore. See, ma’am?” Joan did. 

‘‘Well, then,” said the captain, “you see that 
if them Germans caught them fellers just at the 
beginning of their watch, and knocked ’em both 
out, they ’d have a full four hours to do their 
dirty tricks in, and nohody ’d be none the wiser 
till ’twas time to change the watch. And it 
ain’t been but three hours since them boys went 
on their watch.” 

Joan understood the explanation, but she was 
too tired to answer the captain’s vigorous com- 
ments on the spies’ plot and German treachery 
in general. The nearer she drew to Silver 
Shoal, the more her thoughts were of Garth, 
and of Garth only. What if something had hap- 
pened during this time? Calmer reasoning 
could not check her growing fear. Would the 
boat never, never reach the lighthouse? To her 
weary brain the lamp which shone across the 
water seemed now a great formless flame burn- 


332 SILVEB SHOAL LIGHT 

ing close at hand, now a tiny point of fire on the 
horizon. 

The captain ’s voice broke her lethargy. 

“Well, here you are, ma’am. Your light ’s 
a-going fine now, all right. You certainly de- 
serve a power of credit for what you and the 
boy done. Don ’t you he uneasy ; the daylight ’ll 
be coming before long to help us, and we ’ll get 
the folks all right, if they ’re anywheres round.” 

The big boat churned away from the landing 
as Joan, calling out her thanks, ran up to the 
house. The searchlight cut a silver arc in the 
night and swept across the dark water. Joan 
had left a lamp in Garth’s room, lighted and 
turned low. From the foot of the stairs she 
could see its gentle glow faintly filling the door- 
way. Now that relief from her fears was 
within reach, they seemed to crowd upon her 
with redoubled fierceness. Her heart beat with 
suffocating violence as she went blindly up the 
stairs. The door of his room at last ! 

She had come up very quietly, and he had not 
heard her step. In the dusky light she could 
see his tired eyes fixed steadfastly upon the 
wavering yellow ring on the ceiling. She spoke 
very softly, in order not to startle him, and he 
half sat up and then held out his arms to her. * 


DAYBREAK 333 

It was really not until she sank down beside 
him that she realized how great her anxiety had 
been. Feeling his arms about her, hearing the 
sound of his voice, was almost more than she 
could bear. She hid her face on his shoulder, 
and he smoothed her hair. 

“Joan,” he said suddenly, “you ’re all wet! 
Your jumper and everything! Did the boat 
capsize?” 

She told him of her landing through the surf, 
and he made her go and change into dry things. 
She sat beside him then, telling him of the jour- 
ney to the Coast Guard Station and trying to 
keep him as much as possible from talking. 
Finally his great weariness mastered his 
anxiety for his parents, and he drifted off into 
an uneasy sleep, holding Joan’s hand. Ex- 
hausted, herself, her own head drooped lower 
and lower, till her cheek lay against Garth’s 
hand, and she slept fitfully. 

Faintly, dawn began to break, and the first 
light shouldered darkness away from the hori- 
zon. Through the quiet air came the unmis- 
takable rhythm of the surf -boat’s big motor. 
Joan, awake instantly, tiptoed from Garth’s 
room and flew down the stairs. She heard a 
cheery voice saying, “You go along in now; 


334 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

we ’ll moor your boat for you, ’ 9 and against the 
wan, gray light in the doorway saw Jim and 
Elspeth. She hugged them both in her relief 
and excitement, and drew them into the living- 
room. Outside, just visible in the dawn, the 
crew of the surf -boat were mooring the Ailou- 
ros. Jim had a torn handkerchief about his 
forehead and looked rather haggard and 
strained. 

“ Don’t talk very loudly,” Joan whispered. 
1 ‘ He ’8 asleep — at last, at last. Oh, there ’s so 
much to hear and tell !” 

“We know well enough that the Light went 
out, and why,” Jim said ; “but we ’ve been hear- 
ing wild tales as to how it was lighted again. 
How much of Captain Blake’s story is true?” 

Joan told it all, quickly and vividly, from the 
beginning. Elspeth stood beside the little shelf 
where the knife had lain, and her hands were 
clasped very tightly. A strange look came into 
Jim’s eyes; his mouth was set in a stem line. 
He stooped and picked up the telescope, which 
lay under the table, and put it back slowly on 
the shelf without a word. But presently he 
said in a distant, detached voice, as though he 
hardly knew what he was saying : 



“Who proceeded to gra 


pple the Ailouros without delay 


5) 












































DAYBREAK 335 

‘ 1 It was a very fortunate thing that two such 
brave people were left at the Light.” 

* ‘ I did nothing , ' 9 said J oan. 1 1 Any one could 
have lighted the lamp. He made it all possible, 
and one minute later would have been too late. 
Did you see the transport! Where were you! 
What happened!” 

Jim seemed to adjust himself, then spoke in 
almost his usual voice. 

“We M started back from Quimpaug,” he 
said, “and were sailing up toward Trasket for 
a bit of a jaunt, when we saw a motor-boat bear- 
ing straight down on us. There were two men 
in it, neither of whom I ’d ever seen, who pro- 
ceeded to grapple the Ailouros without delay. 
Trasket hid us from the mainland, and they 
were perfectly open in their actions. One of the 
men promptly knocked me out — ” 

“He fought them both with the boat-hook for 
a good fifteen minutes,” Elspeth broke in. 

“Elspeth did good execution, herself, with an 
oar,” Jim said. “But when they hit me, of 
course she could do nothing with the two of 
them. When I came to, we were both in the 
motor-boat, tied up thoroughly. They seem to 
have been fond of that method. We weren't 


336 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


gagged, but the men informed us that we ’d 
regret attempting to shout. We were lying 
around oil Hy Brasail, with the Ailouros in 
tow, and our captors entertained us with vivid 
accounts of exactly what would happen to the 
transport, to you, and — if we did n’t behave — to 
us. There we stayed. The sun set, and we saw 
Silver Shoal light up and knew that you were 
‘competent.’ And there was absolutely no way 
to warn you, to get you word. We hoped 
against hope that something would happen to 
stop the Count — his beastly name is Grussmann, 
by the way — from carrying out his end of the 
scheme. But the hours went on. Then we saw 
the Light vanish. ’ ’ 

“You can imagine what we were feeling!” 
Elspeth put in. 

“Our men began to be nervous then. Their 
plan was, apparently, that the Count — Gruss- 
mann, I should say — and Schmidt were to join 
us, and they were all to make some sort of get- 
away. We were to be marooned on Hy Brasail 
or somewhere, I imagine. But Grussmann 
didn’t appear. More time dragged on, and 
then Silver Shoal blazed out again. We had no 
notion of how it happened, or why. Do you re- 
member all the theories, Elspeth, ours and 


DAYBREAK 


337 


their si Our beasts were very much discon- 
certed; they were stupid creatures that Gruss- 
mann had wound completely round his finger 
with his flaming ideas of duty to the Fatherland. 

I don’t know where they came from. Then we 
saw the transport go up. And finally Gruss- 
mann came upon the scene, his boat limping 
along and himself furious. 

“It appears that first he ’d had trouble with 
his engine and had drifted about for any amount 
of time with not enough intelligence to repair 
it ; then, running with no idea of hearings and 
without Silver Shoal to guide him, he ’d missed 
his course and wandered about in all directions 
before he reached Hy Brasail. He ’s not an ex- 
pert spy. Just as the flotilla of their two mo- 
tor-boats and the poor old Ailouros got under 
way — hound Heaven knows where — Captain 
Blake and his crew came boiling along out of 
the darkness and held them all up. Schmidt 
and Grussmann and the two accomplices are in 
the surf -boat being adequately attended to, and 
we ’re — here.” 

“And,” said Elspeth, “you and— Garth are 
here.” 

“Our adventures can’t compare with yours,” 
Jim said, trying to laugh. His eyes had been 


338 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

turning again and again to the stairway, and 
now he broke off suddenly and went upstairs 
very quietly, followed by Elspeth and Joan. 

As his father and mother bent over him, 
Garth opened his eyes and looked up at them 
vaguely, as though he were still dreaming. 
Then he caught his breath with a little unbeliev- 
ing gasp. Joan turned away and began dili- 
gently untangling the knotted rope which still 
hung from the eye-bolts. But Garth said, “I 
want Joan, too.” So she came and stood be- 
side Elspeth, and she was very happy. 

“No,” Elspeth said, in reply to Garth's ex- 
cited questioning; “you shall hear what hap- 
pened to us later on. Now you are going to 
sleep. But we have heard your adventures, be- 
loved.” 

“Joan saved the transport,” he said, “just 
in time. Oh, think of it!” 

“Joan lighted the lamp,” said Jim, “and she 
was very, very brave, going to the Coast Guard 
Station and all; but it was you who saved the 
transport.” 

Garth shook his head, but Elspeth and Joan 
nodded theirs. 

“Yes,” Jim said. “What you did was as 


DAYBKEAK 


339 


big a thing, for you, as a man could do. Though 
you were a captain of the seas, you could n’t 
have done more bravely / 7 

“Fogger — no!” said Garth. “I didn't — ” 
and wept at last. 


CHAPTER XXX 


SHIP OF DREAMS 

T HE sunshine poured in through the win- 
dows of Garth’s room, across the bed and 
across the floor. The reflection of light on 
sparkling water below danced on the ceiling like 
a moving network of quicksilver, a cool, liquid 
filigree rippling hack and forth. Elspeth sat 
beside the bed, sewing. Her smooth, dark hair 
was bound by a blue fillet, and at her throat she 
wore a silver clasp with peacocks fashioned 
upon it in green-blue enamel. Sometimes she 
looked up from her work at Garth, who was 
sleeping, one arm outflung. Beneath the white 
sleeve a dull mark still showed where his wrist 
had been bound cruelly tight. As the advanc- 
ing sunshine touched his face, Elspeth rose to 
arrange the shade. He turned his head away 
from the light, moved his hand uncertainly, and 
opened his eyes. 

“Hello, Mudder,” he said. 

“Hello, my darling,” said Elspeth, smiling. 

340 


SHIP OF DREAMS 


341 


He rubbed his fingers over his forehead and 
came upon the bandage above his eyes. For a 
moment he looked very much puzzled. Then he 
said: 

“Oh — a lot happened. 1 remember now. 
Where ’s Fogger? And Joan?” 

“Fogger is ashore, and Joan ’s lying down,” 
Elspeth said. “You ’ve been asleep such a 
splendid long time.” 

“Have I?” he said. “Why, it *s still morn- 
ing, isn’t it? And I didn’t go to sleep till 
after sunrise.” 

“Yes, but this is to-morrow morning. I 
mean, you ’ve been asleep a day and a night and 
a little bit over.” 

“I have?’ 9 cried Garth. “Why, how awfully 
queer ! Then to-day is to-morrow. ’ ’ 

“Exactly! And if this is to-morrow, 
what — ” 

‘ ‘ Then it ’s my birthday ! ’ 9 

“Yes, my dearest, it ’s your birthday; and 
I ’m going to give you twice as many kisses as 
you have years, and a few more for good 
measure.” 

The kisses were given and returned, and 
Garth lay holding his mother’s hand against his 
cheek. 


342 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


“But what have you been doing all this 
time?” he asked. 

“We slept a good deal ourselves,” she re- 
plied. “Fogger and Joan wrote their report, 
and of course we talked and talked. Fogger ’s 
gone in to-day to see lots of officials who have 
come down, and the spies are in prison.” 

“I don’t know yet what happened to you,” 
Garth said. “And when may I get up?” 

“I ’ll tell you our adventures now,” she said; 
“and this afternoon, if you ’re really rested, I 
think you may get up for a while. Because we 
must have just a tiny celebration. There are 
so many things to celebrate — your birthday, be- 
loved one, and the transport’s being saved, and 
Fogger’s getting into the Navy, and — and all 
of us being together — safe.” 

There was a curious quality of solemn elation 
about the birthday party. The bandaged fore- 
heads of two of its members made it seem quite 
strange — “like an entertainment for conva- 
lescent officers, or something!” Jim said. The 
feast had concluded with peach ice-cream, al- 
most unknown at the lighthouse. 

“It ’s even better than the battleship kind,” 
Garth said. 


SHIP OF DREAMS 


343 


He sat in the big armchair at the head of the 
table, and he was wearing the ceremonial sailor- 
snit with long trousers. On the table before 
him stood the birthday cake, its eight pink can- 
dles blazing gallantly. He leaned forward and 
lifted the plate, and the warm orange light 
shone into his clear eyes and glowed on his 
face, very brown beneath the straight, white 
line of the bandage. 

“You must all wish on it,” he said, “and 
then I 11 blow out the candles.” 

They passed the cake from one to the other, 
gazing over the gusty candle-flames at Garth, 
while their lips moved solemnly. Jim held it 
longest and looked so hard at Garth that he was 
quite abashed. 

' ' What a long one ! ” he said. “ Now if I can 
blow all the candles out at once, all the wishes 
will come true.” 

He took a very deep breath for the purpose, 
and was about to dispatch the candles, when 
two long arms came over his shoulders and 
seized the plate. 

“Wait a minute!” cried a gay voice. 
“There ’s another wish belonging to you!” 

“Uncle Brob!” shouted Garth. “I didn’t 
hear you coming!” 


344 


SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 


‘ ‘ Hi! What sort of Maxim silencer did you 
attach to ’Bijah’s old tub!” exclaimed Jim. 
“I didn’t know the hilarity in here was high 
enough to cloak your arrival.’ ’ 

“I was so afraid you ’d given it up entirely,” 
Elspeth said. 

She turned toward Joan, but a sentence of 
introduction died on her lips, because Joan’s 
face was such a strange mixture of bewilder- 
ment, pleasure, and dawning wrath, that it held 
her silent. For the man who stood with his 
arm about Garth, gazing at Joan above the 
flickering candles, was no other than Robert 
Sinclair. 

There followed ten minutes of cross-question- 
ing which left every one but Sinclair gasping 
with amazement. 

4 ‘How could I have guessed that you knew 
each other!” Elspeth said. “Oh, my brain is 
completely tangled up.” 

But Joan looked across at Sinclair, and her 
eyes demanded an explanation later that should 
satisfy her more thoroughly. 

“And now Sinclair said, “I demand the 
reason for the strange headgear of the men 
of the house!” 


SHIP OF DREAMS 


345 


So there had to be a great deal more excited 
conversation, during which every one talked at 
once, and the candles on the birthday cake gut- 
tered and spilled drops of pink wax on the icing. 

4 4 Blow them out quickly !” said Sinclair; 4 4 on 
account of the wishes !” 

So Garth blew, and all the flames lurched and 
vanished and the black wicks sent up little 
spirals of smoke. 

4 4 The biggest piece for Joan,” said Garth, 
wielding the knife, 4 4 because she saved the 
Light, and everything; and the next biggest 
ones for Mudder and Fogger, because they had 
such adventures; and then Uncle Brob, and 
then me.” 

4 4 Mine is the nicest piece,” said Jim. 4 4 It 
has G. P. on it in pink icing.” 

While Elspeth was clearing away what re- 
mained of the birthday feast, Joan and Sin- 
clair slipped out and stood on the rocks. The 
sky in the west was like a curved, rosy shell, 
glinting with misted color. Into it melted the 
sea, undulating smoothly with the long swell, a 
great wondrous pattern of shifting lavender 
and pink, shot with gleams of saffron. In the 


346 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

east a wisp of a twilight moon glimmered over 
the sea, scarcely more than a pearly flake in the 
paling blue of the sky. 

“You must forgive me a great deal,” begged 
Sinclair. 

“Indeed, I think there is much to be for- 
given, ’ Joan assented. “It wasn’t very nice 
of you.” 

I sat up almost all of one night thinking it 
out,” he said, “and then I decided not to tell 
Elspeth. I was so afraid of spoiling everything 
for you. ’ ’ 

“I don’t follow your reasoning,” she re- 
marked, staring at the burnished sky. 

“I thought you ’d be happier,” he pleaded, 

discovering Garth yourself, and all. I wanted 
you to find out about him— about everything — 
without having to mix in my point of view.” 

“The trouble was,” Joan confessed, “that 
your point of view intruded in any case.” 

“You must forgive me much,” he pleaded. 
“I misunderstood yours.” 

She shook her head quickly. 

“No, you did n’t. I ’ve learned a lot, that ’s 
all, and I ’m not ashamed to confess it. I must 
beg forgiveness, too. I said some very dis- 
agreeable things. I spoke out of impatient ig- 


347 


SHIP OF DREAMS 

norance. I must learn a great deal, still.” 

“You could never think such things again, 
could you?” Sinclair ventured; “not even in ar- 
gument with me ? ” He mused, smiling. “ It is 
odd, is n’t it, that Elspeth never mentioned my 
name. There ’s no reason why you should 
have, but she might easily have spoken of me.” 

“Very curious,” Joan agreed. “She often 
talked of you— always as ‘my brother’— and 
Garth sometimes spoke of ‘Uncle Brob.’ They 
even said that you painted ; but there are other 
artists in the world. How could I suspect it? 
Oh, it was abominable of you!” 

“Are n’t you just a little glad that I annoyed 
you so ? ” he demanded. “ If I had n ’t, perhaps 
you might n ’t have flown off in such a hurry to 
the providentially-full Harbor View House.. 
And then you ’d not have come to Silver Shoal, 
nor known Garth, nor anything.” 

‘ ‘ Fancy never knowing him ! ” J oan reflected. 
“Yes, perhaps it was providential.” 

“And I ’ve quite forgotten to give him 
his present!” Sinclair exclaimed suddenly. 
“What an uncle!” 

They returned to the living-room, and Sin- 
clair brought a big flat package from beside the 
door. 


348 SILVER SHOAL LIGHT 

“I Ve brought you a sort of present / ’ he 
said, putting the parcel on a chair before Garth, 
“and I do hope you ’ll like it. It ’s not quite 
dry in some places,” he added, peering inside 
the paper, “but it seems to be all right.” 

He pulled the wrappings away suddenly, and 
there stood revealed a picture, a rather large 
painting. Out through th.e dull green frame 
loomed a great full-rigged ship, coming head 
on out of the mist. Away from her lofty bow 
the clear emerald water curled, dashing spray 
against her carven figure-head. Every detail 
of her beautiful form was painted with exquisite 
care; not the least thing was lacking. Yet 
about her clung a strange atmosphere of un- 
reality, as though she were almost a phantom 
ship. Her skysails were lost in the mist; her 
cloudy canvas merged into the gray behind her. 
Her utter silence was not altogether the silence 
of a pictured thing. She towered along like a 
ship in a dream, clothed in a mystic vesture of 
enchantment. 

She is your ship,” said Sinclair gently. 
“You are her master, and she heeds no other 
hand at the helm but yours.” 

“Ship of Dreams,” murmured Jim. “Per 
aspera ad astra.” 


SHIP OF DREAMS 349 

Garth clung to his uncle in sober ecstasy. 

“How could you think of such a wonderful, 
wonderful thing to give me!” he whispered. 
“And you painted it all for me. My own ship, 
the one I ’ve always wanted. I didn’t know 
I ’d ever see a picture of her. But that ’s not 
just a picture. It ’s— it ’s her! Oh, Fogger, if 
I can have her in my room in town, it will help — 
lots.” 

Outside the window purple twilight deepened. 
In the fading light Garth’s ship grew more gen- 
tly ethereal. She loomed half seen out of the 
dusk, her shadowy sails filled with an unfelt 
breeze, her brave bows cleaving a soundless sea. 
And above, in splendid loneliness, Silver Shoal 
reached out its protecting arms of light and 
folded the world’s rim with its radiance. 


AFTERWORD 


A Letter from Elspeth Pemberley to Joan 
Kirkland 

Silver Shoal, 
October 3rd. 

Dearest Joan: 

We are in the midst of a tragic tangle of packing, 
but our flitting is made much less tragic by the sur- 
prising and delightful proceedings of you and Rob. 
I had barely recovered from the amazement of find- 
ing that you knew each other at all! When Garth 
heard that you were to “belong to us always,” he 
went into a fit of rapture, but he vows he will never 
remember to call you “Auntie.” No, I am not sur- 
prised that it is to be so soon. I ’m so glad that 
we ’ll all be in town by then, though of course we 
should have come, even if Silver Shoal had gone un- 
lighted ! 

You are both quite too good to want us to share the 
studio apartment this winter, when Jim goes. It 
would mean the happy tiding over for Garth (and 
perhaps, who knows, for me) of a very desolate time 
of readjustment. Garth had been existing in a des- 
perate sort of way, staring at the Ailouros and wan- 
dering about aimlessly, weeping in private at inter- 
vals. Since the wondrous news arrived, he has taken 
a quite new point of view. The combination of you 


AFTERWORD 


351 


and Uncle Brob suggests such pleasurable possibilities 
that now he ’s looking forward much more than back- 
ward. Town is losing many of its horrors for him. 

We hope to leave by the middle of next week, when 
’Bijah will take possession. Jim expects to be called 
at any time. It is very, very sad— leaving Our Light ; 
you can imagine it. But what a compensation is wait- 
ing for us ashore! I am writing to my surprising 
brother. He always has had a way of doing perfectly 
delightful and totally unexpected things ! 

All our love and best wishes and blessings, you dear 
old satisfactory person ! 

Your almost-sister, 


Elspeth. 
















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